


The White Rabbit

by SleepyEye



Series: Alice's Adventures [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Car Accidents, F/M, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Like really slow, Mentions of Suicide, Pregnancy, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexy Times, Slow Burn, Teen Pregnancy, mentions of drug abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-11-24 06:00:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 87,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18162269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepyEye/pseuds/SleepyEye
Summary: Set two years after Lethal White. The longest thing I've ever written, a wild rambling of Cormoran and Robin plus random other bits of other characters and some that I have invented. Note: later it will have some references to human trafficking, drug use, and past sexual abuse. I'll add the appropriate ratings, warnings, and characters as it is added.





	1. The Paxton's Head

**Author's Note:**

> So. About two years ago I started writing a novel. Then, like all 20-somethings who try writing novels, I got horribly discouraged and embarrassed and mostly just bored, because I kept on writing it as A Novel, which is a terrible idea. Who can handle that kind of pressure? So I stopped and put it away and did fanfiction instead. Then I found the old bits and pieces and was like "Wait... This would be good with Cormoran and Robin." And the beauty of fanfiction is that it doesn't have to be GREAT. It just has to be fun, and interesting, and entertaining. It doesn't have to follow any rules. So here we go.

Cormoran met Al at the Paxton’s Head, a mid-ranged pub that managed to meet Al’s standards and Cormoran’s price range at the same time. and Al had both been making more of an effort over the years, and to his great surprise Cormoran had found himself growing to enjoy his brother’s company. A month earlier Al had hired Cormoran and Robin to follow Al’s new sister-in-law, Aileen. Aileen had only been married to Al’s brother Ed for six months, but Al was insistent that she had already started cheating. 

Cormoran supposed that Aileen could be considered his own sister-in-law as well. She was married to his half brother, after all. Robin had been worried about some sort of conflict of interest, and had insisted on taking on the bulk of the investigation. Cormoran had never actually met Ed, so the case was not that different from any other infidelity. All the same, he let her take it over. The less he had to do with his father’s family, the simpler everything would be.

Robin had discovered that Ed’s wife had indeed been cheating on him, visiting high end male escorts while claiming to be at squash practice. 

“I’m sorry,” Cormoran said, spreading the case file across the table. “I know this can’t be easy.”

“Nah. I knew it was happening.” Al looked at the photographs and shook his head. “She propositioned me a while back. I told Ed but he didn’t believe me. Now I have proof.” He patted the file. “I really appreciate this, man. You worked hard on this. I admire that.”

“Robin did most of the legwork on this case, actually. She’d be here, but she’s visiting her family in Masham.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s good. I need to get her a birthday gift.”

“Oh yeah? When’s her birthday?”

“Last Wednesday.”

“Jesus. Maybe get a time machine?”

“She comes back tonight. She doesn’t know that I’m late yet.”

“Classy. What are you gonna get her?”

“I haven’t got the faintest idea. What do you get your coworkers for their birthdays?”

“I’ve never had a coworker.”

“Fine. What do you give your friends?”

“Strippers, usually.”

“Christ, you are such a disgrace,” Cormoran said, grinning.

“At least I remember their birthdays.”

“I remembered her birthday. I just can’t think of anything to give her.”

“Roses? Jewelry?”

“Too romantic.”

“That’s not what you’re going for?”

“Most definitely not.”

Over the past year, Cormoran and Al had gotten somewhat closer. They had both made an effort to go for drinks at the Paxton’s Head at least once a month, and Cormoran had to admit that he didn’t always hate it. Al was privileged to a disgusting degree, but he held his wealth with a kind of bashful awareness that made him likable even to Cormoran. He reminded Cormoran of Billy Bristow, always laughing, always full of mischief, and despite his best attempts to resent Al, Cormoran always came away feeling a bit lighter. Al’s life was simple and carefree, and the ease with which he walked through life was infectious. You couldn’t spend time with Al without feeling for a moment like your own life was also effortless and exciting. 

“So you two have never…” Al said, with a waggle of the eyebrows.

“Just because I work with a woman doesn’t mean that we’ve had sex. This is the twenty-first century, not Mad Men.”

“More’s the pity,” Al said with a smirk.

“Fuck off.”

“If you could afford to get her anything in the world, what would you get her?”

Cormoran didn’t have to think twice.

“A motorcycle.”

Al shook his head.

“You two are really fuckin weird.”


	2. Sian Carw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where the story is really gettin started, girl.

Robin got home late on September 12th, and on the 13th she went straight to tailing a client they had nicknamed Peroxide, so she didn’t see Cormoran until mid-afternoon. It had been raining steadily all day, and when she got in she was shivering and her jeans were soaked from the knees down.

“Hello,” she called from the front room.

“Welcome back,” Cormoran said, coming out to see her, “God, you look like you missed the ark. Sit down, have some tea.” He had missed her. He was embarrassed about how much he had missed her. “How was your trip?”

“Fine. My family says hello.”

“Your mum’s not pissed at me anymore then?”

“No. Her fury at you has been completely eclipsed by her fury towards Matthew. Besides, I told her that if you hadn’t hired me back I’d have started my own agency. At least working here I have you to protect me.”

“Ha.” Cormoran imagined that if Robin had started her own agency she would have taken all his business within weeks.  “How are the nephews?”

“Wild. Almost a year old now.” She took the proffered tea gratefully. “I followed Peroxide this morning.”

“Find anything?”

Cormoran and Robin had been hired by Peroxide’s boyfriend. Peroxide had recently been coming home late, making up fake lunch appointments with friends, losing weight and wearing more makeup. According to the boyfriend she had recently become edgy and distant, snapping at him for no reason. When they had first been hired for the job, Robin had agreed that Peroxide seemed like the type to cheat. She was in her early fifties, a prime time for midlife crisis, and the lying about her lunch appointments seemed like an obvious sign. Today, though, Robin had followed Peroxide into an oncology department at the hospital.

“Yeah. She’s not cheating. She has cancer.”

Cormoran whistled low.

“Well shit. That explains that.”

“I think we should keep following just to be sure, but it makes sense.”

“Absolutely. Good work.” 

Robin sat down at her desk, finally noticing the box, which was wrapped up neatly in Power Ranger wrapping paper and sitting in front of her computer.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“I only had the one kind of paper. It’s leftover from Jack’s birthday.”

“No, I mean, why?”

“It was your birthday. I got you something.”

“You didn’t-”

“Shut up and open it," Cormoran said cheerfully.

Robin opened it tentatively, then gasped.

“Oh Cormoran, I love it!” It was a motorcycle jacket, made of soft leather, a shade of green so dark it was almost black. “It’s beautiful! I don’t know what to say.”

“I hope it fits,” he said, “I still have the receipt if it doesn't.”

Robin slid it on. It fit perfectly.

“I asked Al what to get you,” Cormoran went on, “And he asked what I’d get for your birthday if I could afford anything. I said I’d buy you a motorcycle. I can’t afford a motorcycle, but then I saw this at Camden Market, and I thought…”

“It’s amazing. It’s perfect.”

Cormoran scratched his neck and grinned, embarrassed. He checked his watch.

“I have an appointment with a woman named Sian Carw in half an hour,” he said, “Now that you have the afternoon free, would you like to join?”

“Sure." Robin couldn't stop staring at her reflection in the window. "Sian Carw. Is that Welsh?”

“I would assume. Didn’t sound Welsh on the phone though. If anything she sounded Middle Eastern.”

 

Sian was in her early twenties, but barely larger than a child. Robin estimated her at about five feet tall, and not one hundred pounds soaking wet. Her neck was so thin Robin wondered how she held her head up, and her elbows stood out on her arms like knots on a rope. Her black hair was short and stuck up in back. 

“Miss Carw?” Robin asked. The woman nodded, a jerky twitch of the head. “I’m Robin. Please, come in.” She gestured for Sian to go into the office. “I’ll make us some tea. You go ahead, I’ll follow.”

“Hello,” Cormoran said, looking up from his papers, “I’m Cormoran Strike. You must be Sian Carw.”

If Sian had seemed nervous before, one look at Cormoran rocketed her to near panic. Her deep-set eyes ping-ponged around the room, and she picked at a cuticle that Cormoran noticed was already raw and bloody.

“I… Yes.”

“Please, have a seat,” Cormoran said. Sian perched on the edge of the chair and twisted her hands in her lap.

“What can I help you with today?” Cormoran asked.

“I…” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. “I need help finding my baby.”

Robin took that moment to come in, carrying a tray of tea. Sian seemed relieved to be in the presence of another woman, and relaxed slightly. Robin pulled up a chair and handed a mug to Sian, who held it in both hands, like a child. Cormoran shared a glance with Robin.  _ You take it from here. _ Robin nodded.

“Go on,” Robin said, "Tell us about your baby."

“I had a baby,” Sian said, “Almost two years ago. She was… I gave her away. For a better life than I could provide.” She spoke with a heavy accent, but Robin couldn’t place it. It definitely wasn't Welsh. “I would like to find her, now.” Sian sniffed and looked at her hands. “If she has been adopted, I will not try to take her back or interfere in her life. But I just want to know. I have to know that she is alright.”

Robin nodded.

“When was she born?”

“I believe early April, 2012.”

“And where?”

“London.”

“In a hospital?”

“No. In the- in my bathroom.”

“You said that you gave her away. Who did you give her to?”

“A friend. I do not know where he took her.”

“Where is your friend now?”

“He died.”

“Does this friend have a name?”

“Nadim. Nadim Sadiq. But he is dead.”

”Does your baby have any distinguishing characteristics?”

“Yes. She has reddish hair, she’s more paler than me. And she has a red birthmark on her lower back. It’s red, kind of a circle.”

“Does she have a name?”

“I called her Anastacia, but I do not know if that is still her name.” She looked quickly at Cormoran, then back to Robin. “I can pay you,” she said, “I have saved up my money. But it will have to be in cash.”

“That will work just fine,” Cormoran said. He glanced at Robin, who nodded. “We’ll take your case.” Sian exhaled for what seemed like the first time since she entered. “I want you to know, however, that there are many orphanages and group homes throughout London, and we might not find your child. I want you to be prepared for that outcome.”

“Yes. I am willing to take the risk.”

After going over contracts and payments, Robin led Sian back out to the hallway and handed her their card.

“If you think of anything more, give us a call, alright?” Robin said.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Robin came back in and sat down across from Cormoran.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“Some sort of suspicious circumstances, no doubt about that. She gave the baby to a friend, the friend is dead, she doesn’t even remember when or where it was born.”

“Yeah. Probably won’t result in anything. But worth a shot.”

“Feels good to do something outside of wealthy infidels, doesn’t it.”

“You read my mind,” Robin said.

Cormoran leaned back and gave her a calculating stare.

“I wish I could.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured, "Why not use some of the Welsh I know?" Does it fit the plot? OF COURSE NOT. But I'm the only person in California who speaks Welsh, so why not show it off where I can. (I have never been to Wales. Learning Welsh was one of the many odd things I have done for love.)


	3. The Call

Robin kneaded her forehead with her hands. It had been a week since Sian Carw had hired them, and Robin didn’t feel any closer to finding Sian’s baby.  Everywhere else, however, babies seemed to be in abundance. At least now that Stephen and Jenny had the twins her mother was no longer lacking grandchildren. But all the same, she felt like she was falling behind. She didn't even particularly want a child. She certainly didn't feel ready for one. But somehow that just added to the feeling of backwardness: she was so far behind she hadn't even reached the baby fever stage. Her Facebook timeline was bristling with maternity shoots and gender reveals, shower themes, and reminders that "breast is best." Babies abounded. But the one baby she actually wanted to find, Anastacia Carw, was nowhere to be found. She sighed heavily.

“I heard that,” Cormoran called from the other room. 

“I spent all day on the phone with Nick and Ilsa’s adoption lawyer,” Robin said, “Over  _ five thousand _ babies were put up for adoption in England the April of 2012. Eight hundred and sixty-six in London. Sixty of those were newborns. Thirty of those were female. Twenty of those females were white, one was biracial, one was unknown.”

Cormoran came in and looked over Robin’s shoulder at the computer. 

“That’s excellent work,” he said.

“Maybe. The personal information of those twenty-two babies is pretty carefully protected.”

“Can you use the City Hall database?”

“Not without their full name. I tried Anastacia Carw to no result.”

“Did you try Sian Carw?”

“Yes. She’s a ghost.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Not a parking ticket, not an address, not a voter registration. No hospital visits, no bank records.”

“Maybe homeless? Off the grid?”

“Well here’s the other interesting thing. I looked it up and in Welsh, Carw means deer, and Sian is the Welsh form of-”

“Jane,” Cormoran said, “Jane Doe. God, brilliant catch.”

Robin tried to hide her flush at the compliment.

“She seemed scared, when she came in here,” she said, “It made me wonder if the child she was talking about may have been a product of assault or abuse.”

“Would explain a lot. I did wonder why she had a distinctly Welsh name, but an Pashtun accent.”

“I noticed the accent as well, but I couldn’t place it.”

"Yes, it was faint. I haven't been to Afghanistan for a while, but I'm seventy-five percent sure that she's from Afghanistan."

They were quiet for a moment, both considering. 

“I liked Nick and Ilsa’s lawyer,” Robin said, “She was very friendly.”

“I’ve never met her, but they say she’s good. It’s not an easy job.”

“I didn’t think it was appropriate to ask her about Nick and Ilsa’s case. Do you know how it’s going?”

Cormoran turned to face her and leaned against her desk.

“Slow," he said, "They passed their home study, but they still have to get all of their referrals processed.”

“Did you write them a referral?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yeah.”

"I hope-" Before he could finish the sentence his phone rang and he turned to answer it.

“Strike speaking… Yeah… Yeah…” Robin noticed a crease of worry form between his eyes. She had the sudden and surprising desire to smooth it out with her fingers. 

“When? ...Where? ...Alright, we’ll be right there.” He hung up and turned to Robin, who was already standing to get her coat.

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“Camberwell. Sian Carw is dead.”

 


	4. Camberwell

The blue and red lights of the police cars illuminated the solid brick walls of the high-rise. The small crowd that had initially formed to see what was happening had mostly gotten bored and wandered off to bed. One of the uniform red doors on the third floor was busted open, leaning on one splintered hinge. Down below, DI Layborn was speaking to a loud and apparently very angry woman. Upon seeing Cormoran and Robin, Layborn gave them a jaunty wave and managed to extricate himself from the woman’s monologue, passing her off to a uniformed officer.

Since the Chiswell case, Robin had worked with Layborn a few more times. Robin had worked with Layborn on several cases since the Chiswell murder, and he had not elevated in her opinion. He wasn’t unkind, and Robin had never seen him do a poor job on a case, but there was something deeply patronizing about him that made Robin’s skin crawl. 

“Strike,” he said, ignoring Robin, “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for calling us,” Cormoran said.

“Yes, well, I noticed that your business card was on her refrigerator. You know the girl?”

“She was our client,” Robin said, “We were looking for her daughter.”

Layborn finally glanced over at Robin.

“Daughter, eh?”

“An infant, put up for adoption last year.” 

“An infant? Ah, well. So much for an emergency contact.” He turned back to Cormoran. “Did she give you any indication that she was an addict?”

“An addict?” Cormoran said, “No, but we only met her the one time.”

“What happened to her?” Robin asked.

“ODed in the shower,” Layborn said, “Looks pretty straight-and-narrow.”

“Can we take a look in her flat?” Robin asked. 

Layborn looked completely baffled by this request.

“Why?”

“She’s still our client, even if she’s dead.”

Layborn shot a conciliatory glance at Cormoran, but paused when he saw that Cormoran was as serious as Robin.

“I -- Really?”

“If you can,” Cormoran said, “But we understand if it’s not possible.”

“How’s this,” Layborn said, “You let us take a look around, make sure that it was a suicide, like we thought. Then once we’re done I’ll give you a call and you can come in and see if there’s any information about this baby.”

“It’s a deal,” Cormoran said.

 

They stepped into a nearby cafe to wait. Cormoran ordered a large black coffee and Robin ordered hot chocolate. They found a seat by a window and watched as the body was placed into the mortician’s van and driven off.

“You go home,” Cormoran said, “You were up late last night. I’ll stay.” To his surprise, Robin didn’t argue with this.

“Alright,” she said, “Layborn will probably be more willing to show you evidence if I’m not around.” She didn’t say it with any bitterness, just a fact of life that she was resigned to.

“Tosser,” Cormoran said.

Robin snorted. 

“You get used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Just like you shouldn’t have to get used to the stares at your leg. But there we are.”

“I suppose.” 

“Besides, you’re not immune to it.” She said it with a grin, so that he knew she wasn’t angry.

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re very protective of the womenfolk,” Robin said lightly, “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. But you do treat us different.”

“There is a difference, because society makes it a difference. You are more vulnerable, simply because society sees you as a target.”

“And does society see you as a target, with one leg?”

“It’s a lot easier to hide my leg than your-” He caught himself just in time, and coughed into his hand. “So,” he said, “Overdose.”

Robin laughed. 

“My what now?” she asked, teasing. Cormoran grinned and shook his head. Robin let it go. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, “She did seem jumpy and frightened.”

“Yes. I wouldn’t say that she was in a healthy mental state, to be sure.”

They drank in silence. Rain started spitting on the window outside.

“Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean we have to give up the case,” Cormoran said.

“It’s been a while since we did anything pro-bono.”

“I think we can afford it.”

“I think so too.” Their eyes met and Robin managed half a smile. “She died today, so the autopsy will probably be done Wednesday. I’ll go to the morgue then. Doctor Newell will be working, he likes me.”

“Good call. Go home, get some rest. I’ll check out the flat as soon as Layborn gives the okay.”


	5. Cwningen Gwyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: mentions of suicide

Cormoran had expected to wait all night, but after just two hours his phone rang, and he met Layborn outside the building. The rain had turned to sleet, which streaked red and blue in the police lights.

“Did you remove anything for evidence?” Cormoran asked.

“Not yet. There‘s not much to remove, honestly. We dusted things for prints, but the room’s pretty sterile.”

“Is that the landlady over there?” Cormoran gestured to the woman who had been talking to Layborn earlier.

“Yeah. Antonia Mevus. She’s a nutter. Doesn’t like the cops.”

Cormoran was already heading over to where the landlady was sitting. She looked resigned and sad.

“Miss Mevus? I’m Cormoran Strike.”

“You police?” she asked.

“No, I’m a private investigator.”

“Don’t talk to cops.”

She reminded Cormoran of countless women he’d met throughout his upbringing: women forced into isolation and paranoia by poverty and abuse. He knew that the only way to get her to open up was to return to his comfortable childhood persona: Cormoran the survivor, streetsmart, hard around the edges. His posture and movements loosened and he let his words run together into a rough melody.

“Well then I’m the right man for you,” he said, “Sian Carw was a client of mine. I’m just tryin t’figure out what’s going on.” Antonia Mevus kept her arms crossed, but her posture relaxed slightly. “What can you tell me bout this place?”

“I rent rooms unfurnished, for cheap. I take cash, card, check, on the first of the month, every month, no exceptions. I don’t ask no questions, long as they don’t cause no problems.”

“And what can you tell me about Sian Carw?”

“Not much. Like I said, I don’t ask questions. She paid ‘er rent on time, which is pretty unusual round here. Told me she worked as a tutor at Saint Thomas Language Academy. I think she cleaned houses or somethin too. Paid cash.”

“She say anything about family? Next-of-kin?”

“Nah, nothin like that. My guess is she was an illegal.”

“Why d’you say that?”

The woman shrugged.

“Private. Didn’t like cops. Accent. Plus, you know.” She made a sweeping gesture over her face, indicating that Sian was a woman of color. Cormoran raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“She have any friends? Boyfriend?” he asked.

The landlady crossed her arms defensively.

“Look, I keep my nose outta people’s business. They don’t cause problems, they earn their privacy. Do you wanna see her room or not?”

Cormoran followed the woman up a flight of cement stairs to the upper balcony, where the red door was still dangling off its hinges. 

“You’re the one what phoned the police?” Cormoran asked.

“Once I saw the body, yeah. Don’t like police. Makes the place look bad.”

“And how’d you come upon the body?”

“Neighbors below were complainin bout a leak in their ceiling. Pounded on her door, didn’t answer. So I got the master key. Let me tell you, the girl had added five locks to the door.  _ Five _ . I run a secure place. But still she didn’t trust it. And then guess what this girl did: she only locked three of the locks. So when I tried to pick the locks, no matter what, I was locking three of ‘em.” 

Cormoran couldn’t help but admire the thought behind this. 

“Thankfully these doors are flimsy,” she continued, “I could kick it in. Learned how to do that in the military. Marines.”

Antonia looked at Cormoran like she was expecting some response, and when he didn’t give one she shrugged again and turned away.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll be downstairs if you have any more questions.”

Cormoran thanked the woman, then climbed over where the door used to be and looked around. 

After years of the job, he knew to expect anything from a user’s flat. A tiny meth lab, mason jars full of urine, literal skeletons in the closet. So he was shocked to find the flat in pristine condition. Sian had left it largely in its unfurnished state. The room had fading floral wallpaper , and nubby brown carpet that had been carefully vacuumed. It was sterile, the only signs of individual expression being a poster on the wall and a stuffed bunny on the foot of an army cot. The blinds over the window had been bent out of shape, so that they could no longer be raised. There was a small counter built into one wall, with a microwave, a mini-fridge, and a sink. Cormoran opened the cupboard under the sink. Inside was a marble and a dead moth that crumbled into dust when he touched it.

He went over to the refrigerator. There was his business card, held up by a magnet in the shape of a rabbit. The refrigerator was empty except for a Chinese takeout box and a half-empty bottle of cranberry juice. There was a fork and a spoon in the sink, but no other dishes. All of the cabinets were empty. The bin held several old takeout containers and Starbucks receipts.

There was a poster on the wall for the movie The Matrix. Neo and his girlfriend stared fiercely up at cormoran from behind their tiny 90s sunglasses, with the tagline, “Believe the unbelievable” printed along the bottom. 

On a hunch, Cormoran untacked it from the wall. His hunch proved correct. Underneath, scrawled into the wallpaper in faint pencil, were the words “ _ Dilynwch y cwningen gwyn”. _ He texted Robin.

_ “How’s your welsh?”  _ he asked. 

Robin responded almost immediately.

_ “All I know is that they call microwaves popty pings,”  _ she typed back, _ “Why?” _

_ “Any idea what this  _ _ means?”  _ He took a photograph of the words on the wall.  _ Dilynwch y cwningen gwyn _ . 

_ “I think Gwyn means white,” _ she said, _ “Otherwise I haven’t the faintest. I’ll look it up.” _

Cormoran proceeded into the bathroom and flicked on the light. It was small, with a metal bathtub and shower. It was also spotlessly clean, save for the inevitable mess that comes with death. The medicine cabinet was empty except for a box of hair dye and a bottle of Paracetamol. There was a stain on the floor where the bath water had run over and alerted the downstairs neighbors, and the linoleum was peeling up. A bottle of Colorstay shampoo was on the floor. He turned back the shower curtain to look in the bathtub. There was a deep purple ring where the girl’s hair dye had washed out in the long soaking. Cormoran forced down the uneasy feeling in his gut and pulled the curtain shut. 

There was an army cot with a blue sleeping bag, a pillow, and a worn out stuffed bunny in a color that might have once been white. On top of the pillow was an evidence bag with the suicide note, typed and smudged with fingerprint dust. 

“ _ I don’t know who will read this, or who will care. But whoever you are, I’m sure you will agree when I say that it’s better this way.”  _

Cormoran looked under the cot, where there was an old rolling suitcase, duct-taped up one side. He opened it up. Inside were carefully folded clothes: a leather jacket, jeans, slacks, a long-sleeved shirt, and a button-up, all in varying shades of black. Five pairs of identical white underpants, bought from some discount section. Two sports bras. Everything a size extra small. He didn’t think the jeans would have fit his youngest nephew. Under the clothes, the suitcase was filled with books. There was  _ The Rabbit Owner’s Manual, Locating Lost Family and Friends, The PTSD Handbook _ , a battered copy of  _ Alice in Wonderland,  _ and, underneath all of them,  _ The Runaway Bunny _ . Cormoran smiled at the old picture book, remembering all of the times Lucy would sit curled in his lap as a child, tracing the mama bunny with a fat toddler finger, asking him to read her the familiar words.  _ “If you run away, I will run after you, for you are my little bunny.” _

He opened the cardboard cover and nearly dropped the book. Every page was filled with dense writing in a language he couldn’t place.  Several of the words looked like Chinese, some looked like they weren’t any language at all. He could make out a few words here and there that appeared to be Latin, and a few more that could be Welsh.  On every page the mama bunny’s eyes had been crossed out so vehemently that the ballpoint pen dug into the paper, tearing it in some places. Cormoran photographed each item, then shoved it all back into the suitcase and pushed it away.


	6. The Autopsy

Doctor Newell, the coroner, was good friends with Vanessa, and Robin had met him at several parties and dinners that Vanessa had hosted. His long white beard and protruding stomach gave him the nickname “Doctor Claus,” which he accepted enthusiastically, and every Christmas he would go to the Children’s Hospital and hand out toys in full costume. He was unusual in that he had somehow avoided the cynicism and dark humor that usually plagued the department, and Robin liked him enormously.

“Miss Ellacott!” he boomed, the resemblance to Santa dampered by his bloody scrubs, “What a lovely surprise!”

“Hello, Doctor Newell. It’s not a social call, I’m afraid. I’m here about the death of Sian Carw.” 

He shook his head sadly.

“Sad story, that one, to be sure. To have somebody so young but so alone.” 

“I was wondering if you could tell me anything about her.”

“Well, it’s a tricky thing, of course, confidentiality and all that, but considering that there were no suspicious circumstances, I suppose I could give you some information.” He opened up a filing cabinet and started sifting through it.

“I’m really grateful. I owe you one.”

“Give me a minute, my new assistant organized my filing system and now I can’t find anything.”

“You have a new assistant?”

“Yeah, he’s too damn good at his job. Makes me look bad.” Newell straightened up. “Hunter!” he bellowed. 

Newell’s assistant came out from the back room with a folder. Robin had to stop for a moment and blink. The man was uncannily attractive, with a messy swoop of caramel hair just a shade darker than his tan, and an easy dimpled smile that made Robin want to curl up and hide. He was gorgeous and he knew it. He was lithe and graceful and walked with a dancer’s swing in his hips. She wondered what a man that beautiful was doing in a morgue. 

“Robin, have you met Hunter?” Newell asked, “This is Hunter Chasman, my new attendant.”

Robin shook Hunter’s hand, then realized that her palms were sweating. Hunter just smiled down at her with clear blue eyes.

“I’m Robin Ellacott,” she said, “I’m a private investigator, and I’m looking into the death of Sian Carw.” 

“Private Investigator. That’s quite a title. Much more impressive than Forensic Morgue Attendant.”

“Oh, no, that sounds great,” she said it with startling enthusiasm that made Hunter raise a perfect eyebrow. “I mean, it sounds good. A good job. Or title. Job title.”  _ What is wrong with you, child?  _ Robin had never been flustered around men before, not even when they had a gun to her head.

Hunter cocked his head and examined her.

“You’re an interesting one, aren’t you.”

Robin didn’t know what to say to that, so she stood there, turning red. Thankfully Doctor Newell took that moment to come to her rescue.

“Robin is friends with Vanessa Ekwensy,” he said, “You might remember her face from the papers. She helped catch the Shacklewell Ripper. She’s currently working on our young suicide.”

Hunter made a sound of bright recognition, then sorted through the file cabinet until he found the correct file, which he opened and reviewed. 

“That was my first time assisting with a victim of an overdose,” he said, “She didn’t come in with any other personal effects. She was found in the shower, so there weren’t even any clothes.”

“What can you tell me about her?”

“Estimated to be in her early twenties, although her teeth were bad enough to belong to an elderly woman. Injected a fatal dose of heroin in the shower, although the official cause of death was drowning. Once she lost consciousness her head blocked the drain, and the water built up in the bathtub. The downstairs neighbors started complaining once the tub began to leak, four hours later.”

“Four hours. What was the state of the body after that amount of time?”

“Some bloating, but not too bad. She was very thin to begin with. Skin and bone, really. Typical junkie physique.”

“Did she appear to be a regular user? Track marks, anything like that?”

“Yes, a lot of pre-existing track marks. Her organs had sustained long-term damage from drugs. Liver was a mess, lots of scar tissue on her veins. She started early.”

“Any other scars or tattoos?”

“Nothing.”

“Any sign that she’s ever given birth?”

“No.”

Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Really! No stretched uterus or readjustment of organs?”

“No, but those things aren’t always apparent. Sometimes the signs of pregnancy go away over time.”

“Is there any chance of foul play?” Robin asked.

“None whatsoever. The angle of the needle could only mean one thing.”

“She’s young for an overdose.”

“It happens more often than we’d like to admit.” He cocked his head again, and Robin was reminded of a golden retriever puppy. “Who are you working for, anyways? Who’s your client?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Right, right, sorry. Here, let me give you my number, in case you have any more questions.” He scribbled his phone number on a post-it and handed it to her. 

“Likewise. Here’s my information,” Robin said.

Hunter grinned.

“I’ll be sure to use it.”


	7. Divorciversary

“To Robin’s divorciversery!” Ilsa said, raising her glass, “One year free!”

Glasses clinked around the room. Robin rolled her eyes, but she really was very touched by everyone’s efforts to make the day easier. Nick and Ilsa had invited Cormoran, Robin, Vanessa, and Robin’s roommate Ned over for a big dinner to celebrate one year to the day since the divorce had been officially finalized. The divorce had been a battle of nuclear proportions: Ilsa had told Robin that she had never seen such a dirty fight over a marriage with no kids involved. Matthew came at Robin with an army of five lawyers who took her to pieces, demanding that she repay Matthew for everything he had given her during their marriage: the rent, their anniversary dinner, their honeymoon plane tickets, date-nights, restaurants, movies. He wanted it all back. Matthew had tried to wear Robin down, but she was made from tougher stuff than he had ever fathomed. She had held her ground for a year and two months and ended almost entirely triumphant. Matthew had even agreed to pay her a small amount of alimony “until she remarried”. Robin had sworn to herself that she would never let that happen.

“So a year of the unmarried life,” Vanessa said, “How are you liking it?”

“I like it,” Robin said, “I can come and go as I like, I can cook what I want when I want, I can watch whatever shows I like. Nobody controls me but me. It’s great.”

“Preach it,” Vanessa said. Vanessa herself had been single since taking a job in the Youth Investigations division. She loved the job, but she said that the sheer number of pedophiles she saw every day would make anybody want to be celibate.

“Have you seen Matthew at all since the divorce?” Nick asked.

“No, thank God,” Robin said, “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw him again. During the divorce process he said that he was seeing somebody new. Poor girl.”

“What about you,” Ilsa said, “Do you ever think about dating again?” Her eyes darted to Cormoran, in a move that only she believed to be subtle.

“Matthew ensured that I’d never get married again,” Robin said, “He’ll only give me alimony as long as I remain single and independent.”

“Who said anything about marriage?” Vanessa said, “You can still date.”

“I enjoy my singleness too much to be tied down,” Robin said, “Maybe if I found the right kind of guy.”

“And who exactly would that be?” Ned teased, “You are the pickiest person I’ve ever seen when it comes to dating. You never like any of the guys I try to set you up with.”

“I am not that picky,” Robin shot back.

“Then why wouldn’t you go out with Johnny?”

“Too young.”

“He’s your exact age!”

“Exactly. Guys my age are too immature. I prefer older men.”

“What about Hassan? He was older.”

“Too skinny. I like big guys,” Robin said. Nick choked on his drink. “Not like _that_ , Nick you pervo,” Robin said, “I mean I like soft edges. I like cuddling.”

“You’re looking for a man of substance,” Vanessa said.

“Substance, yes, that’s a good word. Intellectual substance, as well. I want to be able to talk to him.”

“What about Clark?”

“Clark was too pretty. I don’t trust pretty boys. They manipulate you with their perfect hair and girly eyelashes.”

“Joe? He wasn’t pretty.”

“Too macho.”

“Macho?”

Robin instinctively rubbed the spot on her finger where her wedding ring used to be.

“I don’t want a guy who might feel threatened by me and my potential successes,” she said, “But I also don’t want him to see me as weak. I want a guy who’s kind, respectful. Who listens to me. He doesn’t have to like crime shows, but he won’t make fun of me for watching the Father Brown Mysteries.”

Cormoran was silently going over the checklist in his head, feeling a tiny bubble of hope blooming in his chest. There had been a time, right after the Chiswell case, when everybody had expected Robin and Cormoran to get together. Even Cormoran had considered it somewhat inevitable. But, as always, Matthew got in the way, this time by hurting Robin so profoundly that she refused to involve herself with anything more romantic than a handshake. So Cormoran had waited, never admitting to himself or anyone else that he was waiting.

“I want a man who likes hard working women,” she continued, “and who won’t mind my long hours. A guy who likes adventures, but also likes to lie in bed and eat ice-cream.”

Things had changed, now that they were both single. There was a careful line between them, charged like an electric fence, and they never crossed it. But sometimes, when one of them felt especially daring, they would inch closer to the boundary just to feel the energy. Then they would get scared and rush back to a safe distance, sometimes being intentionally brusque, or ignoring each other for a period of time.

“Oh,” Robin added, “And he can’t smoke.”

The bubble of hope inside Cormoran’s chest burst.

“You don’t like smokers?” Cormoran asked. Ilsa and Nick exchanged a glance, smirking.

“Oh, I don’t mind when _you_ smoke,” Robin said, “We’re not dating. But in a boyfriend it’s different.”

“It tastes bad,” Vanessa said, nodding solemnly. Cormoran wasn’t sure what “it” was, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

“It’s not that,” Robin said, flushing slightly, “At least, I wouldn’t know, Matthew didn’t smoke. But my granddad died of lung cancer, and I watched my grandmother have to take care of him, help him lug around the oxygen tank and nurse him till he died. Then she got lung cancer two years later, and they credited it to second-hand smoke. I know that the risk of cancer is always there, and I’m not going to dump somebody cause they get it. But I’m not going to have the odds stacked against me. Our job is dangerous enough already."

The table took a moment to mull this over.

“Alright then,” Vanessa said, “No smokers.”

Ilsa tried to hide her disappointment. There was nothing Ilsa wanted more than for her two closest friends to be together. But she knew when she was beat. Cormoran had been smoking since the day he’d turned twelve. She would hardly be able to recognize him without the familiar cloud of Benson-and-Hedges that always floated around him. Ilsa looked between Cormoran and Robin. They were both incredibly strong, which meant that they were both incredibly stubborn. She doubted that either one would budge. She sighed and picked at her dinner. Maybe it was time to put her fantasy aside.


	8. The Matrix

Cormoran met Robin and Barclay at the office for their weekly meeting, where they filled each other in on the state of their various cases.

“First things first,” Robin said, “Any word from Hutchins?” The weather change had done bad things with Hutchins’ MS, and he and his wife had taken a month-long vacation to Greece to help with his migraines.

“I got an email from him yesterday,” Cormoran said, “His migraines are much improved, but he’s still got the shakes.”

“Well, send him our love,” Robin said. She turned to Barclay. “Barclay? What’s new?”

“I got the bank records for Gold Digger,” Barclay said, “I’ll be presenting it to Scrooge tomorrow.”

“Good,” Robin said, “Cormoran, any updates on the Carw case?”

“Not really,” Cormoran said, “I looked up _dilynwch y cwningen gwyn_.” Barclay laughed at Cormoran’s strangled pronunciation.

“Ye sound like ye’re about to cough up a hairball,” he said. Cormoran rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Not my fault they’ve never heard of vowels,” he said.

“So what does it mean?” Robin asked.

“ _‘Follow the white rabbit,’”_ Cormoran said.

“Could be a reference to Alice in Wonderland,” Barclay said.

“No,” Cormoran said, deep in thought, “It’s from The Matrix.”

“What, that nineties sci-fi movie?” Barclay asked, confused.

“Yeah. There’s a scene in the beginning where Neo is told to follow the white rabbit, and he sees a rabbit tattooed on a woman’s arm, which leads him to a party, where…” He turned to Robin, who was staring at him with a big sappy grin. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“I’m just impressed, that’s a pretty obscure reference,” she said.

“I watched it on my first date with my ex Tracey. It was always a bit special to us.” It had been a rare find in Afghanistan: a couple of American missionaries had gotten a projector and had created a tiny movie theater in their basement, where they showed English-speaking films. It had been a magical night. “What’s your excuse?” he asked.

“I studied it in a university philosophy course,” Robin said, “It’s a very significant film in philosophical circles.”

“Enlighten me,” Barclay said, “What on earth is significant about The Matrix?”

“Well it’s all a metaphor for Plato’s parable of the cave,” Robin said.

“Sorry if I’ve missed out on the philosophy course,” Barclay said, “But ye’ll have to give me a bit more than that.”

“In Plato’s parable, there’s a group of people chained up in a cave, where they’ve spent their entire lives. They can’t move, and they’re forced only to stare at one wall.”

“How does that even work?” Barclay asked, “Ye can’t be chained up your whole life, ye’d die. Yer muscles would atrophy.”

“Will you let me finish?”

“Sorry.”

“People behind the captors are projecting shadow puppets onto the wall in front of them.”

“Bit of a dick move. Why don’t they help the poor sods chained to the floor?”

“Doesn’t matter. Anyways, the people in chains of course believe the shadow puppets to be the real world. That’s all they know. Then one of the captors gets free, and he leaves the cave and goes out into the world. He sees things as they really are, all beautiful and lovely. Then he goes back to his friends in the cave, and tells them about the world outside.”

“ _That’s_ his first move? To _talk_? Why not undo their fecking chains?”

“Well, he does that next, but nobody believes him. The shadow world is all they know, so that’s all they want to believe in. They refuse to follow him.” She leaned back in his chair. “The end.”

“It’s a bit reversed in The Matrix, though,” Cormoran said, “In the film it’s the fake world that’s lovely and good. In the real world there’s just evil robots and gruel.”

“True,” Robin said, “I always wondered why they were so eager to wake everybody up. Not to mention it has some pretty sexist undertones. Trinity’s who role in life is to marry the hero? Why not be her own hero?”

“Written and directed by two women though.”

“Still-” Robin started, but she was interrupted by Barclay.

“Can we get to the point?” he said, loudly.

“Right,” Cormoran said, “So what do you think? Is there a connection here? Is Sian sending us a message?”

“Or did she just like the film?” Robinn asked.

“The landlady said that she worked as a tutor at Saint Thomas More Language College,” Cormoran said, “Robin, why don’t you call them and ask if they have any information on her. Barclay, you finish up with Gold Digger and Scrooge. I’ll contact the Herberts’ adoption lawyer, see what she can dig up for me.”

***  


“Saint Thomas More Language College, how can I help you?”

“Hi, my name is Robin Ellacott, I’m calling to inquire about one of your employees?”

“I’m sorry, we can’t disclose any information about our employees.”

“She’s already deceased. Sian Carw.”

The line went quiet.

“I’m a Licensed Private Investigator, and I’m looking into her death,” Robin continued.

There was a pause, then the receptionist said,

“Give me one moment, I’ll see what I can do. How do you spell the name?”

Robin spelled it out for her. There was the sound of typing, then,

“She’s not on file, which means that she was not employed by us officially. I’m sorry.”

There was a click as the woman hung up the phone, and Robin swore under her breath. She went back to the school’s website and typed in “Languages” into the search bar. There she was in luck. The only entry was dated two years old, and read, “St Thomas More Welcomes New French Teacher, Doctor Pierre Balena!”. She clicked to read further.

“ _STMLC is honored to have Doctor Pierre Balena as our newest faculty member, teaching French to the seventh through ninth years. Doctor Balena has recently moved to the area from the United States where he taught linguistics at the University of California in Berkeley.”_

Robin quickly Googled Doctor Pierre Baleine and came up empty. She replaced it with Doctor Peter Balena. The first result was a Linkedin profile for a man named Peter Balena, with “Current Posting” listed as “French teacher at Saint Thomas More Language College”.

He answered on the second ring.

“Hello?”

“Is this Pierre Balena?”

There was a laugh.

“My name is Peter. I’m not actually French. I just teach it. Who am I speaking to?”

“I’m Robin Ellacott, I’m a private investigator. I was wondering if I could ask you some questions about a woman named Sian Carw?”

“Oh my god, yes, Sharny. It was a terrible loss. Please, come in. Would tomorrow work?”

“Tomorrow works fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to all my peeps out there with MS during this time of weather change. Take care or yourself.  
> I'm not a huge fan of the matrix, but I love the line "Follow the white rabbit". I think it's brilliant.


	9. Amani Carter

The next morning, Cormoran went to the office of Amani Carter, Nick and Ilsa’s adoption lawyer. He had never met their lawyer before, but he had heard good things. 

The adoption process had been grueling for everybody concerned. Nick and Ilsa had initially planned to adopt an international child, from Sierra Leone, but then it was discovered that the adoption agency in Sierra Leone was unethical in the removal of the children, and Nick and Ilsa decided that the risks of international adoption were too high. Then they met a pregnant teenager who wanted to give her baby up for adoption, but after feeling her baby kick for the first time, the young mother had decided to keep the child. Then they had fostered an infant for two weeks, but the birth father, who had been previously unaware of the baby’s existence, had stepped in and taken the baby back. 

After that Ilsa nearly gave up hope entirely, and spent three days in bed, refusing to speak to anybody. That was when the lawyer had truly gone above and beyond her call. She had come to their house and sat at Ilsa’s bedside for three hours, talking quietly behind closed doors. Amani Carter was finally able to convince Ilsa to attempt adoption one more time, after which they would accept a life without children. 

Cormoran pondered these things as he made his way up the stairs of the glossy white legal firm and knocked on the door labeled  _ “Amani Carter: Adoptions” _ . 

“Come in.” The voice was vaguely familiar to Cormoran, although he couldn’t place where he had heard it before. He opened it and walked in.

“Hello, I’m-” he started.

“Cormoran Strike, as I live and breathe.” The woman was standing behind her desk, beaming like she’d won the lottery.

Cormoran squinted, trying to recognize her. She was large, soft around the edges, and she had a face made for smiling. Her dark braids were piled up on top of her head, although they weren’t beaded the way they had been when Cormoran had known her.

“ _ Amani _ ? Amani Farzad?” Cormoran said, stunned. The last time he had seen Amani she had been seven years old, playing Barbies with Lucy on the grimy floor of their Brixton flat. They had been neighbors on Atlantic Road, and Lucy and Amani had been inseparable until the day that Joan and Ted brought them back to Cornwall. Amani had practically lived in their flat, hero-worshiping the glamorous Leda Strike, latching onto any form of family she could find. 

“It’s Amani Carter, now,” she said. 

As a child Amani had been shy and chubby, always wearing the same grubby coat, regardless of the weather. Now she seemed to float on confidence, glowing and strong. Her eyes were sharp and she showed off her broad shoulders in a white sleeveless blouse.

“I had no idea you were Nick and Ilsa’s lawyer,” Cormoran said.

“Started from the bottom now I’m here,” Amani said, gesturing at the spacious office around them, “I could say the same for you. I’ve seen your name in the papers.”

“Started from the bottom now I’m a little bit above the bottom,” Cormoran said, “I get by.”

“And how’s your sister doing?”

“Married, three kids, office job.”

“Sounds like she’s still playing house.”

“That’s one word for it. She’s happy though.”

“I’m glad to hear that she’s doing well. I’d love to get back in touch with her again.”

“She tried to go back and find you, the summer after we moved out, but you weren’t there anymore.”

“Yeah, I was put into the system.” Her face remained casual but there was a charged air to her tone, warning Cormoran against asking follow-up questions.

“Well. It’s a small world,” Cormoran said.

“Isn’t it just. Have a seat, please. Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you.”

Amani poured him a steaming cup and sat down across from him. The tea smelled like raspberries and chocolate.

“I’ve been doing some digging into the case your partner brought to me,” she said, “Unfortunately I can only look so deep. Once a child has been officially adopted and placed in a permanent home, their information is sealed and we can no longer find them. Until then, however, we do have a certain amount of information.” She took out a fat file folder. “So, as I’m sure Ms. Ellacott told you, there are about twenty babies officially placed up for adoption that fit the criteria your client gave you. Of those babies, nine have been adopted, and we can no longer track them or release their information. If your client’s child is one of those nine, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

“I understand.”

“However, there are thirteen babies still in care or being fostered, so we do have their information.” She slid the folder across to Cormoran. “These are their adoption profiles with their names, photographs, and last known placements. Some of them I’m even considering for the Herberts.” Cormoran opened the folder and looked inside. A row of smiling baby faces stared up at him, each with a short bio next to it.  _ Abby, Alice, Beatrice, Claire… _

“This is excellent,” he said, “Really, I don’t know how to thank you. This is invaluable information.”

“Consider it a favor from a friend.”


	10. St. Thomas More

The halls of Saint Thomas More smelled like sweat and stale perfume and pubescent heartbreak, and Robin had to close her eyes for a moment to keep from bolting. Her own secondary school had been smaller than this, but it was similar enough to give her flashbacks: the same hard linoleum floors and lines of mustard yellow lockers, the same motivational posters on the walls and water stains on the ceiling. 

Then the bell rang, and the kids poured out in a tsunami of life. They were the same as secondary schoolers everywhere, elite academy or slum: boys beating each other over the head with their binders, oblivious to the girls walking beside them like tiny supermodels. Robin had to jump out of the way to avoid being trampled by a couple of boys intent of wrestling in the middle of the hallway, and it was a relief when she ducked into the classroom marked “FRENCH”.

“Doctor Balena?”

The teacher turned. He was a large man, with a stiff peak of fine brown hair and a flat round face. He had a mouth that curved like a child’s scribble and a protruding upper lip. He smiled at her curiously.

“Hello! You must be Robin Ellacott. Please, call me Peter.” When he spoke Robin could see that he was missing two of his lower teeth. He gestured for her to sit at the other side of his desk. “How can I help you?”

“I just have a few questions about Sian Carw.”

“Anything.” 

“How did you meet?”

Peter’s eyes widened and he bit his lip.

“I, well. Is that pertinent?”

“We’re trying to get as much information about her life as we can.”

“Right. Well. I guess if it helps you find her… I attend meetings downtown. Twelve Step meetings. That’s where I met Sharny.” 

“And how did you two get along?”

He looked down at his hands, considering. 

“I had never seen anybody like her. She spoke almost every language I could think of. I’m good with languages, I speak seven fluently, five conversationally. But she was unbelievable. When I found out that she was living in a shelter, I helped her find a job tutoring some of my students.” He smiled. “She had a way with kids.”

“Did you have a romantic relationship?”

“God, no!” He seemed horrified at the very thought. “We were coworkers. Friends at the very most.”

“Did Ms. Carw ever say anything about family? Friends?”

“Sharny never said much of anything, to be honest. I’ve known her for about a year, but she rarely spoke of anything personal. She mentioned that she lived in Wales after her mom died in Afghanistan, and that’s how she learned Welsh. That’s about it.”

“Anything else? Brothers or sisters? Where she lived before here? Anything at all?”

“She never gave her testimony. Just that she was an addict.”

“What was she addicted to?”

“Prescription meds.”

“Not heroin?”

“Not that she said. But sometimes the two go hand-in-hand. Once you can’t afford the prescriptions, Heroin is the next fix.”

“Anything else that you know about her?”

Peter shrugged.

“Just random crap. Nothing that will be useful to you at all.”

“In my experience everything is useful.”

“Alright, well.” Peter looked down at his hands. “She was funny. Always making these quiet little jokes. Kind of deadpan, the kind of humor that surprised you. She loved rabbits and the Matrix and Greek Mythology. She loved the ocean, and was wanting to go back to Wales. She was saving up her money to take a trip there. She seemed so happy.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “It was a shock.”

Robin waited for him to say more. When he was silent she said,

“There were no warning signs?”

“I’ve been wracking my brain for the past week, trying to think of things. I knew that her life hadn’t been easy, although she never said so outright. She was jumpy. When I first met her she looked like she’d just been released from a concentration camp. Her head was shaved, she was so thin she could have been a walking skeleton, and her eyes had these deep circles under them. I wondered if she had cancer, to be honest.”

“And recently?”

“She made such a change. She started to relax, started smiling sometimes, grew her hair out. She dyed it black, which was the first time I’d seen her put any care into her appearance. She said she wanted to look like Trinity from the Matrix.”

“And did she continue to attend meetings until she died?”

“Yes. She attended the day before.”

“Any sign of relapse?”

“No. She’d just received her one year chip.”

“Would it be alright if me or one of my associates came to the group and asked some questions about her?”

“Ah. I suppose. It’s at Chochmat Halev synagogue downtown, on Wednesdays at seven.”

“There's another thing,” Robin said, pulling the defaced copy of the Runaway Bunny out of her bag, “My partner found this among her belongings. I tried to translate it online, but a lot of it was in a language I couldn’t recognize.”

Peter took the book, his eyes widening in shock when he saw the crossed out eyes. He rifled through the pages, his mouth pursed in concentration.

“I’m not surprised you couldn’t translate this online. It’s a combination of multiple languages. Just at a glance I’m seeing Welsh, French, Greek, Russian... This is incredible, honestly. I’d have to look it up further…” 

“Is there any way to translate it?” Robin asked. 

“I think so, but it will take some time.” He grinned. “You’ve made my day. This is a hell of a lot more interesting than verb conjugations. I’m geeking out over this right now.”

“Thank you very much. You’ve been very helpful.” 

As Robin shook his hand, Peter turned earnest.

“Listen,” he said, “Sharny was…” His eyes roamed around the ceiling, searching for words. “If you need anything, I want to help.”

“I’ll let you know what I find,” Robin said, “There is still the disposal of the body to be taken care of. A burial, or a service of some kind. Nobody has come forward yet to organize anything, so if you know of anybody who might be interested in doing that...”

Peter swallowed hard.

“Like I said, I didn’t know her well. But I’ll ask around. See if we can pull something together.”

Robin handed him her card.

“Give me a call once you get that translation. Or if you think of anything before that.”


	11. Game Night

 

Cormoran sat at his desk, looking at the Peroxide case file, but thinking about Sian. The case was close to home, there was no denying that. A young woman overdosing on heroin, alone in a grubby flat, not noticed or found for hours… He knew that he would have to be careful. It was too close, and he needed to stay detached. 

He should have known something bad was going to happen to his mother. He had been worried about leaving Leda alone with Whittaker when he’d left for University. He remembered the night before he had to confirm his placement, he had caught Leda in a rare moment of sobriety. It had been twenty years since he had last spoken to her, but he could still imagine her voice like she was in the room with him. 

_ “You only live once,” _ she’d said, _ “It’s gone in a moment. So why not make the most of it?” _ A trite, cliche saying, but she had meant it from the heart, and Cormoran had held onto it.  _ “I’ll be so proud of my University boy.”  _ She’d run her fingers over his eyebrows, which had been furrowed in concern. “ _ Do it for me. _ ”

Cormoran’s phone rang, jolting him back into the present. It was Robin, and he felt his mood instantly lift at the sight of her name on the caller ID.

“Peter Balena says that he met Sian at a Twelve Step program,” Robin said over the phone.

“Interesting. What was your impression of him?”

“He seemed pleasant enough. A bit of a crush on Sian, if you ask me, but it didn’t seem lecherous. Never can tell, though. He speaks about a dozen languages, so I gave him the picture book to translate.”

“Good. Good.” Cormoran drummed his fingers on the desk.  _ It’s gone in a moment. So why not make the most of it?  _ “Listen, Robin, what are you doing tonight? Do you have any plans?”

“Yeah, actually, Vanessa is coming over for a Game Night. Why?”

Cormoran was glad that Robin couldn’t see him turning red.

“Ah,” he said, “Just wondering. No reason. Work stuff.”

“Oh. Alright.”

 

Since Vanessa had ended her last relationship, she’d been spending more time at Robin’s flat, and had quickly become fast friends with Robin’s roommate, Ned Gatwa. The three of them had started throwing weekly game nights where they drank too much wine and played very few games. 

Robin liked Ned. At forty-five he was one of the mid-range victims of the AIDS epidemic, a medical miracle who had lived to see his entire community die. When sober, he was quiet and serious. As soon as he had a glass of wine in hand, however, he transformed into a bizarre mix of Marilyn Monroe and Edna Mode. 

His backstory was somewhat hazy to Robin. He had met Ilsa in University, when he had been a grad student directing the school play and Ilsa had been a light tech. Robin knew Ned had lived large in his youth, proven by the large trophy for “Drag Empress of 1990” that was displayed over the fireplace. They never spoke of his days as a queen, though Ilsa had told Robin that his drag name had been Anna Phallactic. 

Tonight was poker night, although none of them were entirely clear on the rules. Vanessa rested her chin on Robin’s shoulder and stared at the cards in Robin’s hand. Robin batted her away.

“Quit spying, you cheater,” Robin said. 

“It’s hardly cheating when you have the worst poker face known to man,” Ned said. Robin flipped him off. 

Her phone buzzed and she checked it. There was a new email, from  [ hchasman@yahoo.com ](mailto:hbachis@yahoo.com) . Curious, she opened it. It read,

_ Hello Miss Ellacott. This is Hunter Chasman, the Forensic Morgue Assistant. We met the other day. This is going to sound silly, but I can’t seem to get that girl out of my head. Sian Carw? I know you probably can’t disclose anything about her, but I’d love to know more about the case. Some jobs you just can’t forget. _

“Is that Dr. Newells new assistant?” Vanessa asked. Robin jumped, which made Vanessa laugh. 

“You shouldn't read over people's shoulders,” Robin said.

“If you told me things, I wouldn't have to,” Vanessa said, grinning. “Hunter Chasman is gorgeous.” 

“He  _ is _ very pretty,” Robin agreed, “Too pretty, honestly. Attractive men are usually hiding something, in my experience.”

“Is that why you and Cormoran have never gotten together?” Vanessa asked.

“What? No! Besides, Cormoran isn’t attractive. Not conventionally.”

“He’s alright, in a rugged, bear-ish kind of way,” Ned said. Robin hoped that her scarlet blush could be blamed on the wine.

“Not pretty, though,” Robin said.

“True,” Vanessa admitted. She leaned back and put her feet in Robin’s lap. “You know, I always expected you two to wind up together.”

“You and everybody else.” Robin sighed. “It’s... complicated.”

“You two don’t fancy each other, then?”

“Like I said, it’s complicated. First I was getting divorced, and then my trust was so royally fucked I didn’t want to date  _ anybody _ .”

“And now?” 

“Now I feel like if I was to be with Cormoran it would have to be a very serious relationship. I mean, we couldn’t just have a fling and then break up, not without putting the whole business at risk. And I’m just not ready to have another serious relationship.”

“You and Hunter Chasman would be good together, I think,” Vanessa mused, “And he’s clearly interested.”

The wrinkle of confusion between Robin's eyebrows deepened. 

“What? Why do you say that?”

“He emailed you!” Vanessa explained, “And he didn't even have to. Look, who would actually say  _ I can't get that work thing off my mind, I need to talk to you more _ . It's such a teenage girl excuse to get to know you.”

Robin stared for a minute, then snorted with laughter. 

“You think he's  _ hitting  _ on me? I mean I’m flattered, but you need to get your mind out of the gutter. Stop reading all that trashy erotic fanfiction.”

“Why not? You’re good looking.”

Robin shot her a  _ don’t-mess-with-me _ look.

“I’m serious. Hey Ned,” Vanessa said, “Don’t you think Robin’s smoking hot?”

Ned raised an eyebrow.

“You do know what ‘I’m gay’ means, right?” he asked.

“Ok, but if you weren’t,” Vanessa pressed. Ned glanced over at Robin, then shrugged. 

“Sure, I’d smash that.”

Robin shook her head.

“You guys are children.”

“I won’t deny it,” Vanessa said, “But this guy is dreamy. And totally into you.”

“You’re delusional.”

“Fine. Let it go. But if you’re not going for it I’m going to take that as your blessing, and I will pursue that smoking hot mortician with all that I have.”

“He’s all yours,” Robin said. She put down her cards. “What do you know about the Sian Carw suicide, anyways?” she asked. Ned threw a playing card at them.

“Hey!” he barked, “No work talk at game night!”

The girls ignored him.

“Sian Carw… Oh, yeah, I heard that Layborn was on that one.” 

“How’s the investigation going?”

“Not in my jurisdiction anymore, is it? I’m in Youth Investigations now.”

“But you’re still in contact with them.”

“From what I heard it wasn’t much of an investigation. Pretty obvious suicide. Open and shut. The door was locked from the inside, angle of the needle fits with self-inflicted. Past track-marks and such.”

“Do you know if any alcohol bottles or drug paraphernalia were found at the scene? We didn’t see any.”

“Not that I know of. But like I said, I’m in Youth Investigations now, and I wouldn’t know.”


	12. Sunday, October 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta fill in this stuff.

Cormoran spent Sunday looking over the babies in the folder that Amani had given him. Thirteen baby girls, around two years old, all with a reddish tint to their hair.

_ Abby was born on 4/11/12. Abby has strawberry blonde hair and big green eyes. She loves being cuddled and tickled. She is now starting to walk, and loves to explore. If she falls down, she just gets right back up again and keeps going! She loves eating fresh fruits like apples and plums. She also loves animals, especially bears. Abby’s mother consumed alcohol while pregnant, which may impact Abby’s development over time. Abby is allowed annual letter box contact with her biological mother. _

Cormoran put a red X next to Abby’s name. If Sian had annual letter box contact, she wouldn’t have come to Cormoran and Robin. He moved on.

_ Amy was born on 5/1/12. Amy is an active little girl, who loves to sing and dance. She has bright red hair and brown eyes. She loves her stuffed cat, named keekee, and takes it everywhere. She was placed for adoption when she was three days old, after her mother died in childbirth. She is in excellent health. Her favorite activity is arts and crafts, where she loves paint and glitter.  _

Cormoran put another red X. Sian had not died in childbirth.

After reading all thirteen profiles, he crossed out eight of the girls whose parentage had been known. He reread the five possibilities. Caroline, who liked bath time and bubbles. Dominica, who liked dinosaurs and who needed to working on her anger management. Georgine, who was social and “a real cuddle bug”. Leona, who liked to clap her hands along to Bruno Mars songs. It was the last one who really caught his attention.

_ Alice’s birthday is estimated at mid April. She has bright red hair and brown eyes. She can be shy at first, but quickly latches on when trust is built. She loves nature and flowers. Alice has been in foster care since she was born. Her mother took some drugs while pregnant, which resulted in Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome. Alice is making good progress, but has experienced some developmental delays. She has recently started walking, though sometimes needs a bit of a helping hand.  _

Cormoran didn’t particularly like children, he had never wanted them. But looking over the names of the children in the file, he felt a deep and sudden urge to adopt them all. He copied down their addresses. 

***  
  


Robin stirred her pasta while talking to her mum on the phone. Sunday calls had become a tradition, and Robin had even begun to look forward to them. When she didn’t have to hide her anxiety, calling home had lost most of its tension.

“Martin moved into a place of his own now,” Linda was saying, “It’s a refurbished garage, so it’s not large, but it’s cozy. And it’s all his.”

“God I’m jealous,” Robin said, “I love Neddie but honestly I’m too old to have a roommate. All my friends are married or living on their own.” She sighed. “Hard to believe that two years ago we were going to buy a house.”

“And aren’t you glad you dodged that bullet,” Linda said. Robin laughed. 

“You don’t think I’m too old for a roommate?” Robin said.

“Never. Gran has a roommate, doesn’t she? And she’s ninety-two.”

“Gran has in-home care. That’s not a roommate.” Robin tasted the pasta, confirming that it was done, then drained it in the sink.

“We went over to Stephen’s place for the twins’ first birthday,” Linda said, “It was very sweet.”

“How are they?”

“Well, Micah had already started walking when you were last here, but now Robby is walking too. What a nightmare. But they were happy.  Robby is finally sleeping through the night. Micah is still working on that.”

“Any words yet?”

“Mama, dada, that’s all. They speak gibberish to each other all day long though. They loved your gifts. Although Jenny groaned when she saw the drum.”

“Ah, yes, I will be doing penance for that, won’t I. I can’t wait to see them again. Was the party a good turn out?”

“Oh yes, the George’s, the Strassmans, Kimberley...”

Robin tried to remain casual. She had nothing against Matthew’s sister. Kimberly had actually been unexpectedly kind to Robin throughout the hellish divorce, even going so far as to tell Matthew off for the way he was drawing it out. Kimberly was best friends with Jenny, Stephen’s wife, she had been a bridesmaid at Stephen’s wedding, and Robin wasn’t about to force a friendship to end just because Matthew couldn’t keep it in his pants. 

“How is Kimberley?”

“She’s doing well. Her daughter is about to start school, can you believe it?”

“God, time flies.”

“You will not  _ believe  _ what Kimberley said about Matthew,” Linda said.

“Mum, I really don’t want to hear about Matthew right now.”

“But he and his girlfriend-“

“Mum!”

Lynda sighed.

“Alright, alright. How are you? Any interesting cases?” Robin could feel her mother’s anxiety through the phone, Linda’s desperation for Robin to say  _ “No, just same-old, background checks and infidelity.” _ Their relationship may have begun to heal, but Linda still worried.

“Yeah, one is kind of interesting. The first pro-bono we’ve taken in a while. A woman wants help finding a child she put up for adoption.”

“That sounds rewarding,” Linda said.

“Oh it is. And you don’t have to worry, it’s very safe. No murders this time.” 

“Good. And how’s Ned?”

Robin smiled. Her mother had become almost immediate friends with Ned upon a visit the year before. Before she could answer, however, her phone started beeping. “Hey Mum, I’m getting another call, actually.”

“Oh, yes, dear, go ahead and answer. I should get going on dinner anyways.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mum.” She hung up and answered the other call. “Robin Ellacott speaking.”

“Hi, I’m Peter Balena, we met last week?”

“Yes of course, how are you?”

“Good, thanks. I got the translation of  _ The Runaway Bunny _ , and I was wondering if there was some way I could get it to you.”

“Sure thing. I could swing by the school some time tomorrow, if you’d like. Does three work?”

“How about three thirty?”

“You’ve got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The adoption profiles are based on real adoption profiles from group homes in London.


	13. The Runaway Bunny

Peter was talking to a student when Robin arrived, but he beckoned her in anyways. 

“What's the word for  _ to eat _ ?” he asked the student, “We just went over it.”

“ _ Manger _ ?” The girl had a breathy frightened little voice and her feet barely touched the floor as she sat in his large office chair.

“Wonderful! And how do we say that in  _ vous _ ?”

“ _ Mangez _ ?”

“You're nailing this. And that's the last question, so you're done for the day.” The girl started packing her things into an enormous backpack. Peter looked at Robin. 

“Britannia here was one of Sharny's students,” he said.

Robin took the invitation to join them at the desk. 

“Hi Britannia, I'm Robin. I'm trying to learn a little bit about Sian.”

The little girl looked up at Robin tremulously. She had large clear blue eyes ringed by watery red eyelids. Her white-blond hair was in two thin pigtails, bangs cut straight across her eyebrows like a protective curtain. She reminded Robin of a frightened bunny. 

_ Follow the white rabbit _ .

“Can I talk to you about her?” Robin asked.

The girl looked about anxiously, but couldn’t seem to think of an excuse, so she nodded. 

“So you knew Sian pretty well?”

Another nod.

“Did she ever talk about any family?”

“No.”

“Any friends? Boyfriends?”

The girl squeezed her hands between her knees and blushed.

“No.”

Robin could tell that she wasn’t going to get anything more out of the child.

“Okay. Well it was wonderful to meet you, Britannia. Thank you so much for your time.”

The little girl nodded, then swung her huge backpack over a fragile shoulder and scampered out of the classroom. Peter gestured for Robin to sit.

“She’s a cute kid,” Robin said.

“She is. Gets teased a lot though. They call her Rabbit Face.”

Robin sat in the chair across from the desk.

“So have you managed to translate the book?”

“I did.” He pulled  _ The Runaway Bunny _ and a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “I was glad for the work. It was a good challenge.” He opened the book and pointed to the words written in neat Sharpie immediately under the typed story. “She started out just translating the basic text.  _ Unwaith roedd yna ychydig o gwningen _ , that’s Welsh.  _ Once there was a little bunny _ . Then it goes to Russian:  _ on khotel ubezhat. Who wanted to run away _ . Then she does Korean, Spanish, Japanese. It’s incredible. Here the Sharpie words are all in clearly discernible chunks. One sentence at a time, one language at a time, translating the story.  Now the other words, in ballpoint pen, that gets weird. Instead of doing each sentence in a different language, they’re all jumbled together. One word is in Spanish, the next in Korean, the next in Russian. It’s a madhouse, almost impossible to understand. But the subject matter is even weirder. Here, I translated it onto this page, take a look.” He handed her the printed translation sheet. Robin read:

_ Mama Bunny is hiding in the trees, the grass, hiding wherever baby feels safe, going where baby least expects it, as soon as baby thinks she’s escaped, Mama is there again, watching. _

_ Where is my baby bunny? I want to be your tree, my baby, I want to be your crocus, I want to be the wind, blow back home to me, I love you.  _

_ What if bunny is back down in the depths of the earth? How will Mama bunny find her? _

_ If Mama can’t find baby bunny, everything is lost. _

_ I’m sorry, baby bunny, I can’t find you. _

_ My baby bunny, do you want to be found? Are you running from me? Why do you want to escape so bad? Why are you so afraid of me? _

_ Am I the Mama? Am I the baby?  _

_ Mama bunny is running too, turning into a flower, a tree, a stone, she must always run.  _

_ Mama bunny is coming for me. I see her everywhere. _

_ Is Mama bunny good or evil? _

_I’m sorry, baby bunny_ _I tried to hold onto you but I couldn’t._

_ I’m not going to give up. I will keep looking for as long as I live. I will find you. I will bring you home. Because you are my baby bunny. _

 

Robin’s eyes got progressively wider as she read. At the end she let out a harsh puff of breath.

“Wow,” she said.

“I know. It’s hard to read.”

“ _ ‘Where is my baby bunny…’” _ Robin read, “She hired us to search for her child.”

“I didn’t take it quite so literally,” Peter said, “I mean she also said that she was being chased. Couldn’t it be more poetic? She sees herself as both the Mama and the baby. That could be something psychological, right?”

“You mean the baby could be her inner child or something.”

“Something like that.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, I had no idea. I had no  _ idea _ . I knew she had skeletons in her closet, but this is some seriously messed up stuff. Like paranoia, or schizophrenia.” He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “And here I let her near my students.” 

“We can’t diagnose her off of one document,” she said, “For all we know this was a joke, making fun of a creepy children’s book.”

“Then why the secret code?”

“Okay, then not a joke. But she was writing this just to herself. She didn’t think anybody else would ever see it. If people only saw your most secret journal entries, wouldn’t they only see the worst parts? They’d think you were crazy.”

“They might think I had some issues, sure, but not like this. Not imagining giant bunnies chasing me.”

“What I’m saying is that we can’t say that she was some violent child-beating lunatic. The students liked her, right? She never hurt any of them.”

“I know. I just wish I had been less oblivious.” His voice sounded like it was coming up from a deep well. “I wish I had noticed her hurting.”

Robin didn’t know what to say to that, so she looked back at the paper.

“She seems so intent here at the end,” she said, “She’s not going to give up, she’s going to keep looking. It’s actually very hopeful.”

“I know. It’s strange.”

Robin drummed her fingers on her mouth, thinking.

_ Follow the white rabbit. _


	14. Children

Robin as just about to leave the school when she heard somebody calling for her.

“Excuse me!” It was the same breathy little voice from earlier, and Robin turned to see Britannia jogging up behind her, panting a bit from exertion. 

“Oh, hello, Britannia.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, ask me anything.”

“How did Miss Sharny die?”

“Oh. Ah. That’s something you should ask your parents.”

“But you just said I could ask you anything.”

Robin shut her eyes and made a mental note to never say that again. 

“Right.”

“I did ask my parents,” she said, “My dad said I was too young to talk about it, and my mum said that she was sick.”

“So there you go. She was sick.”

“That's a crap answer. Sick means a lot of things. Did she have Ebola? The flu? You can die from the flu you know.”

“Why does it matter?”

“I liked Sharny. I want to know.”

Robin had a rule to always be upfront and honest with children, treat them like people, not belittle them or treat them like babies. But the truth was that they  _ were _ children and when it came down to it she just wanted to protect their fragile little soap bubble of innocence. 

“Did she commit suicide?” Britannia asked. 

Robin felt herself starting to sweat.

“What makes you say that?”

“My Nana had breast cancer, and my parents told me about that. My cousin had hepatitis and my dad told me about that too. I figure if they won't tell me anything it's got to be really bad.”

“Did she seem like a sad person to you?”

“I don’t know. Not really. Sometimes people hide sadness though. I feel sad a lot, but I don’t show it. I just come over and talk to Mister Balena.”

Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Do you spend a lot of time alone with Mister Balena?”

“When I can. I eat lunch in there a lot. He’s nice.” She fiddled with her backpack straps. “You asked if Sharny had a boyfriend, and I said no, but…”

“Yes?”

“I was embarrassed to say it in front of Mister Balena. I wasn’t supposed to know. But one day she got a... text message.” Her blush deepened. “A dirty one.”

Robin leaned forward.

“Yeah? What did it say?”

“It said…” the girl’s voice dropped to a guilty whisper, “‘ _ Hey babe, I had fun last night _ ’ and then it had a winky face.”

Robin let out an internal sigh of relief.

“Did you see a name?”

“Yeah. His name was Dale.”

“Did she ever tell you anything else about her life?”

“Nuh-uh. We just talked about homework, usually.”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me, Britannia. You did really good.”

Britannia scampered off.

 

***

It was dark by the time Robin left the school. A drop of icy rain fell on her forehead, then another. It started slow, as if testing the effect, then all fell at once, a silver sleet storm that left Robin running for cover. She dashed into the first place she saw. 

It was a bowling alley, with psychedelic lights and clanging arcade music. It smelled like molding sweat and cotton candy, but it was warm and dry. 

“What can I help you with, ma’am?” The speaker was a teenage boy with a long pointed nose and a bored expression.

“Oh. Sorry, I just had to get out of the rain.”

The boy sniffed.

“Well, you’ll have to either get a lane, a meal, or play the arcade if you want to stay. Nothing in this life is free.”

Robin blinked, then nodded and headed over to the small soda fountain at one end. She ordered curly chips and a milkshake. The bowling alley was almost empty, with a birthday party at one end and a single bowler at the other. Robin watched the man in the corner score strike after strike with easy, meditative precision.

“Robin?”

Robin froze at the sound of the voice .

“ _ Matthew _ ?”

Matthew looked as polished as ever, his clothes neatly pressed and his hair in its usual pristine condition. Robin felt very aware of her frizzy hair and the extra weight she had put on. She noticed he was starting to get laugh lines around his eyes, and wondered if they had been there all along and she just hadn’t noticed. She hadn’t seen him since the divorce had been finalized, over a year ago. 

The bartender handed him a beer, and Matthew nodded in thanks and walked over to where Robin was sitting.

“I knew I recognized that red hair,” he said.

Robin tugged at her hair self-consciously. She hadn’t cut it more than a trim in years, and it was now in a braid that went all the way down to her waist.

“I’ve been thinking about cutting it,” she said.

Matthew laughed.

“You’ve been saying that since the day we met. You’ll never cut it. It’s the best thing about you.”

Robin had imagined many times what she would say to Matthew if she saw him again. She had spent many sleepless nights scripting out lengthy arguments and accusations in her head, predicting his responses, slamming his defenses into the ground. But his casual attitude towards her was disarming, like they hadn’t spent the better part of a year battling over every last possession they had bought together. She put her hands into her lap to keep them from shaking.

“How are you doing?” she asked. 

“I’m doing very well. I lost my job, but I’ve started working freelance, which I’m enjoying. It actually pays better than working salary.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“And you?”

“I’m alright. Fine. Better, now,” she said, “Business is booming.” Discomfort flickered in back of Matthew’s eyes, but he didn’t address it.

“How’s your family?” he asked.

“They’re good. Jonathan’s twins just turned one.”

“Yeah, I heard. Good. Good for him. How’s… How’s Strike?” The word seemed to stick in his mouth, and she could see the effort he took to appear casual. She almost wanted to laugh. He was trying so hard to be the bigger man, it was nearly breaking him.

“He’s fine. Like I said, business is booming.”

Matthew opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted when a young girl, around five, ran up and threw her arms around his waist.

“Matty, when can we have cake?” the girl asked. Robin felt her smile stiffen and dry.

“In a minute,” Matthew said, ruffling the girl’s hair, “I’m talking to an old friend. Robin, this is Maya. Maya, this is Robin.”

“Hi Maya,” Robin said.

Maya stared up at Robin with large mistrustful eyes.

“Tell Mummy I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Matthew told the girl. The girl nodded and darted off.

“Who’s that?” Robin asked.

“My fiance's daughter. Soon to be my step-daughter.”

Robin couldn’t have been more shocked if he’d punched her in the stomach.

“You’re engaged,” she said.

“I assumed you knew.” He sipped at his beer. “I met Sioned about a year ago. Let me tell you, everything changed in my life. I’ve never felt this way before. And Maya, man, I love her so much it hurts. It’s like when I met her I finally found my purpose. I was meant to be a father.” He looked up at Robin. “What about you, are you seeing anyone?”

“No.” 

He waited for Robin to expand, but she felt as though all of the air had been knocked out of her, and she was unable to speak for lack of breath.

“Well,” He patted her shoulder awkwardly. “I have some cake to cut, but it was great to see you again. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

Robin nodded and smiled and agreed mindlessly.

Matthew walked off to his birthday party, leaving Robin alone at the counter as she tried fruitlessly to cover the cracking feeling in her ribs. 

She watched him as he lit the candles, sang, cut cake. She ate her chips and imagined herself next to him, celebrating a birthday party.  _ That could have been us. _ She wasn’t sure if she was jealous or relieved. 

She ate her last chip, then pulled out her phone. She opened her email, found the message from Hunter Chasman, and hit reply.

_ “We all have cases that hit home, especially when it’s somebody young,” _ she wrote, _ “This has been a hard case for me too. I would love to talk to you more about it over coffee. Does this Saturday work for you?” _

Then, hardly breathing, she sent it. It was all she could do to not run screaming out of the room. She felt like she had detonated a bomb. She went to the bathroom and washed her face with shaking hands.


	15. The Rabbit's Head

That night Cormoran couldn’t sleep. Robin had sent him a photo of Peter Balena's translation, and it ran in circles around his head. _I want to be your tree, my baby, I want to be your crocus, I want to be the wind, blow back home to me, I love you._ When he did finally drift off to sleep, he dreamed of his mother. She was dead, needle sticking out of her arm, getting cold as she laid alone on the mattress. He ran to her and she turned to Sian, and there was a baby crying, he had to find the baby, he was running through the old decrepit squat searching for the child, but the walls were folding in around him like cardboard. He woke up sweating and gasping for breath.

He sat up in bed and pulled a photocopy of Sian’s suicide note out of the file on his nightstand. The note had been typed up and printed, which struck Cormoran as strange from somebody who didn’t have a computer or a printer. She would have had to go to the library or the school, write up a suicide note, bring it home, and then overdose. Why go through all the trouble, when she could have written it anywhere?

“ _I_ _ don’t know who will read this, or who will care. But whoever you are, I’m sure you will agree when I say that it’s better this way.” _

He pulled out the translations that Robin had gotten from Peter.

“ _ If Mama can’t find baby bunny, is she a failure? I’m sorry, baby bunny, I can’t find you. My baby bunny, do you want to be found? Are you running from me? Why do you want to escape so bad? Why are you so afraid of me? Am I the Mama? Am I the baby?” _

He compared them, held them side-by-side, imagined the thoughts that went into both. He knew that clarity could come before suicide, and that the change in voice that came with a language translation, but he still could not comprehend the same woman writing both. 

_ Follow the white rabbit. _

He sat up, stunned.

_ Of course.  _

He dialed Antonia Mevus.

“Antonia? It’s Cormoran Strike. Listen, have you cleared out Sian’s apartment yet?”

  
  


Robin got Cormoran’s text at six in the morning, and rushed to the office as fast as she could. The sun was already beginning to peak above the skyline when she arrived, her clothes thrown over her pajamas. 

She walked in to find Spanner sitting at her desk, clattering away at the computer. Before she could speak in greeting, he held up his hand.

“Don’t talk to me,” he said, “I’m in the zone. Federico will explain.”

Robin nodded, poured herself a cup of coffee, and went into Cormoran’s office.

Cormoran was sitting at the desk, holding the disembodied head of a stuffed rabbit.

“Jesus Christ, Cormoran, what are you doing?”

He held the head up in demonstration. It leaked a bit of plush onto the desk.

“Follow the white rabbit,” he said, “It’s inside the white rabbit.”

“What is?”

“Her phone! There’s a cellphone inside of her stuffed white rabbit!”

Robin felt herself waking up faster than she believed was possible. She hurried over to the desk.

“God, that’s brilliant!” she said, “Like Orlando’s monkey!”

“That’s what made me think of it. Then when I went and got her things out of storage, I realized that the rabbit’s head had been recently resewn on. So I cut it open.” 

“And?”

“And it was password protected. I called Spanner, he working on it. He should be done soon.”

She handed him a cup of coffee without his having to ask, and he felt a warm surge of affection towards her.

"So," she said, "Now we wait."

"Indeed." He leaned back and sipped at his coffee. "How was your evening?"

“Listen,” Robin said, “I want you to know…” She looked down at her mug. “You know Hunter Chasman? The mortician’s assistant?”

“Yeah, what about him?”

“He asked me to get coffee. And I said yes.”

Cormoran’s face froze in a smile.

“Oh. Okay?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s a weird thing to tell you.” Robin grimaced. “But he’s involved in the case, and we all remember what happened last time I went out with somebody involved in a case.”

“You got held at gunpoint, and then I was an asshole about it and blamed you.”

Robin grinned.

“Right," she said.

“Well. I won’t be an asshole about it this time. I promise.”

Before Robin could reply, Spanner shouted triumphantly.

“I’ve got it! You’re in! You’re in!”

They both hurried in. Sian’s phone was a cheap off-brand burner that texted and called and did very little else. 

“We’ve got some text messages here,” Spanner said.

“Scoot over, let’s look.”

Cormoran and Robin hovered over Spanner’s shoulder. Spanner clicked on “text messages”. There were a few from somebody named Mark asking about when Chochmat Halev was doing their next meeting, and a woman named Tina who wanted to carpool to the school. Otherwise all of the messages were from Peter.

Robin leaned in, resting her elbow on Cormoran’s shoulder. He could sense her breathing, feel her heat.  _ Focus, dammit. _

“There it is,” Robin said, “Dale.”

There was a long string of dialogue, and Spanner scrolled up to the top of it.

_ “Is this Sian? This is Dale, from meeting.” _

_ “Yes hello.” _

_ “Want to get together?” _

_ “Sure.” _

_ “My address is 325 Ripple Rd, apartment 32.” _

There was a pause of several days, then Sian wrote, _ “Meet me in the park again tonight, by the swings.” _

Dale replied,  _ “You got it, sweetheart.”  _

The next morning came the message from Dale that Brittania had seen. 

“ _ Hey babe, I had fun last night ;) _ ” 

“Not very poetic,” Cormoran said.

“We can’t all be Catallus,” Spanner said.

About a week later Sian wrote back.

_ “Same time same place?” _

_ “Ok.” _

There were no text messages for almost a week, then Dale wrote again.

_ “You around? I’m sorry if I took it too far last time.”  _ After two more days of silence Dale wrote,  _ “Can we at least be friends?” _ Another day passed, then,  _ “Just tell me you’re okay. You haven’t been to meeting. I’m worried.”  _

Finally, Sian responded.

_ “I'm sorry I have not responded, and I'm sorry I freaked out last time. I am okay, thank you for asking. I'm asking myself some questions now, searching for some things. I need to do it alone. Thank you for your kindness. I am attending meeting elsewhere.” _

“Go to Dale’s contact,” Cormoran said. Spanner clicked on Dale’s name and Cormoran copied down the number.

“I’ll go by 325 Ripple tomorrow,” Cormoran said, “See if he wants to talk.”

“Is there anything else on the phone?” Robin asked, “Any files?

Spanner typed around and gave a sound of pleasant surprise. 

“Yes, there is one," he said, "God above, what does that say.”

Cormoran and Robin leaned in closer, shoulders brushing. The file was named  _ I Cwningen fy Babi _ .

“Is that some sort of code?” Spanner asked, “I know most codes, and that’s one I’ve never seen before.”

“It’s what was written in the picture book,” Robin said, “And on the wall.”

“ _ Cwningen _ ,” Cormoran said, “That was the Welsh word for rabbit, wasn’t it?”

“ _ Babi _ would be baby, I assume,” Robin said. 

Spanner opened the file.

_ “Fy cwningen fabi annwyl ,  Я иду в группу поддержки наркомании sa Biyernes, እነርሱም አበረታቱኝ So schreiben Sie ein Wiederherstellungsjournal." _

Cormoran swore under his breath.

“It’s in the same fucking code.”

“I’ll send it to Doctor Balena,” Robin said, “Maybe he can translate this like he did with the last one.”

“Do you think he can be trusted?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”


	16. Hunter Chasman

Robin met Hunter at a cafe for lunch. She had been telling the truth to Vanessa and Ned; since both Matthew and Raphael, she had a distinct mistrust of attractive men. Was it possible to discriminate against somebody because they were too pretty? 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Hunter said, after they ordered.

“You’ve been having trouble with the Sian Carw case?”

Hunter sighed.

“It’s embarrassing," he said, "I like to think that I’m a professional, and that stuff like that doesn’t get to me. I love my job, and I’m good at it. But this girl. I just can’t get her out of my head.”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about," Robin said, "This one is difficult, no way around it. I’ve worked a lot of cases, but this one… There’s no denying that it hits a nerve.”

“She’s so young,” Hunter said.

“And suicides are always sad.”

“So tell me about her,” Hunter asked, “What have you found?”

“Very little, unfortunately. No family, at least. But I’m still looking around.” 

The waiter brought them their food: a kale salad for Hunter, macaroni and cheese for Robin.

“That looks excellent,” Hunter said.

“Oh, it is,” Robin said, “It’s what I always get when I come here. It’s a little too good, if I’m being honest. I should really order a salad, but I can never resist.”

Hunter hummed with sympathy. 

“I know how that is. I used to struggle with my weight, too. It’s hard.”

Robin was thrown. It was not the response she was expecting. Instead she just nodded.

“So,” Hunter continued, “How long have you been working as a Private Investigator?”

“Four years. How long have you been an Forensic Morgue Assistant?”

“I got certified two years ago. Worked in Scotland for a while, then came here.”

“And how on earth did you get interested in that?” she asked.

Hunter grinned, leaving Robin temporarily dazzled.

“I get asked that a lot,” he said, “I loved human biology in college, but to be honest I’m not a huge fan of humans. I’m very introverted. Didn’t have enough money to go to med school anyways. I’m happy with my job now. It’s really perfect for me.”

“Plus if you slip you don’t end up killing somebody.”

Hunter laughed out loud.

“That’s funny. Yeah, you’re right. If I take somebody’s nose off I can just glue it right back on.” He took a sip of tea. “What about you? How did you get into your job?”

“An accident, honestly. The temp agency sent me to Cormoran’s office by mistake, and he kept me on, eventually promoting me to partner.”

“So are you two…” Hunter waved his hands about vaguely.

“No. God no. We are strictly professional.”

Hunter grinned again.

“Good.”

They spent the next hour talking, and Robin found herself laughing more than she had in months. She remained guarded, not sharing too much about her personal life, and Hunter didn’t push it. The conversation ranged from hobbies (he liked rock climbing, she liked cars), to childhood pets (he’d had turtles, she mentioned Angus the pony). She barely noticed the time pass until her phone buzzed with text from Vanessa.

“ _ We on for Game Night tonight?” _

“Oh my God it’s nearly three,” Robin said, “I should get going.”

Robin reached for her wallet, and Hunter put his hand on hers to stop her.

“Please, allow me.”

“I can charge it as a business expense,” she said.

“This isn’t business,” Hunter said, “We barely talked about the case. This is all pleasure.”

He walked Robin to her tube station and leaned on the ticket gate while she searched for her card.

“I really enjoyed talking to you,” he said, “I feel like you really get me.”

Robin couldn’t quite remember how to breath. She felt as though she had too many lungs all of a sudden and didn’t know how to use any of them.

“Right. Yeah. It was good.”

“We should do it again sometime.”

“Absolutely.”

  
  


“How was your date?” Vanessa asked that night, leaning heavily on Robin’s shoulder. They were already a good portion into the rosé and had almost entirely given up on their game. 

“It wasn’t a date,” Robin said.

“It was _ totally _ a date,” Vanessa insisted. Robin rolled her eyes. “Did he pay for your meal?” Vanessa asked.

“Paying for a meal does not mean that it’s a date,” Robin said.

“It totally does.”

“It just means that he has more money than me.”

“Neddy,” Vanessa called. Ned looked up from the Scrabble Dictionary . “If a guy pays for Robin’s meal, doesn’t that mean it’s a date?”

“I’m with Robin on this one,” Ned said, “I pay for your drinks all the time, and that’s not a date.”

Robin held up her hands.

“Thank you, Ned. I rest my case.”

“Well hold up,” Ned continued, “That does not mean that  _ this particular instance _ was not a date. It just means that him paying for you is not the defining factor.”

“HA!” Vanessa lifted her fist triumphantly.

“So what’s the defining factor?” Robin asked. Ned leaned back in his chair, in full professor mode.

“Well, did he kiss you?”

“Jesus! No!”

“Okay, did he say,” Ned deepened his voice into a sultry Elvis impersonation, “‘I had a lot of fun tonight, we should do it again some time.’?”

Robin turned red.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Vanessa laughed.

“She’s blushing, Neddy, look, you made her blush!”

“Ridiculous,” Robin said, “Everybody says that.”

“Only if they want that hot body, girl!” Vanessa crowed.

“So what are you gonna do?” Ned asked, “You gonna make dinner plans?”

“She should wait,” Vanessa said, “Play hard to get, make him come to her.”

Ned snorted. 

“That doesn't work,” he said, “I played hard to get once, waited, all coy and aloof, guess what happened.”

“Oh god not this story again.”

“He DIED.”

“You met him at the hospital, booboo. When you have an incurable disease you're allowed to go fast. Robin does not have an incurable disease.”

"That you know of," Ned retorted.

They both whirled around and stared at Robin. 

“As far as I am aware, I have no diseases, incurable or otherwise," Robin said.

“Does he? Maybe he does.”

Robin’s phone pinged with a text. 

“Is it from him?” Ned asked. 

“No, of course not, he's already  _ died, _ ” Vanessa bit back. 

Robin looked at the message and stood up.

“Excuse me, sorry. I have to call Cormoran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause Robin needs to date around a bit before getting with Cormoran. Girl deserves some fun. Even if it is with a douchey health-nut. (PS: Ned is based on a good friend of mine, gallows-humor and all. We'll get into his backstory a bit later.)


	17. The First Installment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all. Here's where it gets real weird. Like sci-fi level weird (still canon though). And you're gonna get A LOT more.

Cormoran was trying to read, but he couldn’t focus. He was jittery and desperate for a smoke. He drank another cup of tea, his hands trembling a bit. As usual, he couldn’t get Robin out of his mind. Her voice, her embarrassment when she had talked to him about Hunter Chasman.  _ He asked me out to coffee. And I said yes _ . It was coffee, just coffee, not a date, coffee didn’t necessarily mean anything. But it had meant enough for her to tell him about it. He kicked himself. What did it matter to him what coffee meant? It wasn’t any of his business what Robin was doing with her time. She could be sleeping with half of London, that was her prerogative. She was a grown woman. And it wasn’t like he stood half a chance with her, bitter old cripple that he was. He would only bring her down. Robin carried a beautiful child-like joy around with her, even in the worst of circumstances. Cormoran didn’t think he’d ever had child-like joy, even when he was a child. He leaned back in his chair and refocused on his book, trying to calm the sick shaky feeling in his veins. 

After spending half an hour on one page of his novel, Cormoran finally gave up and turned on the TV. The sound of a late-night historical drama lulled him into an uneasy doze, and he had just managed to drift off when his phone started to ring.

“Hullo?”

“Cormoran, it’s Robin.” She sounded a bit slurred.

“Are you alright?” Cormoran asked, “What happened?”

She giggled at his concern. 

“Calm down. I just got an email from Doctor Balena. He’s translated the first pages of Sian’s document.”

“That was fast.”

“Not actually. It’s a long document, and translating it is slow going, so Balena can only send it to us a bit at a time.”

“Have you read it yet?”

“Not yet. But I sent it to you and Barclay.”

“Thank you. I’ll look at that right away.  I’m impressed he could decipher it at all.”

“He’s good at what he does,” Robin said, stifling a yawn. “I hope I didn’t wake you up. I know it’s late, but I thought you’d want to know right away.”

“No, no, you’re right. I’ll start that now.”

“Okay. Happy reading.”

“Happy reading.”

Cormoran held the phone to his ear for a moment after she hung up, wishing that her voice was still in the room. Then he opened up his computer, opened the file, and started to read.

 

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ I’ve been going to an addict support group on Fridays, and they have encouraged me to start keeping a recovery journal. I’m not one for journaling, but I can write to you. Maybe someday you’ll read it.  _

_ Do you know how much I love you? I love you beyond words. Beyond all comprehension. _

_ Love love love, _

_ Mummy _

 

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ In support group they keep encouraging us to talk, and tell our stories. People have a lot of sad stories.  _

_ I don’t think I’m ever going to tell mine. Not out loud. But maybe I can start writing a bit of it for you. Maybe if you knew, you would understand, although I don’t know about that. Even I don’t understand all of it, and it’s my story. _

_ Love and kisses, _

_ Mummy _

 

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ Here in the Aphrodite Bubble, all anybody cares about is What You Do. That’s the first thing anybody ever asks. What do you do? I was confused about this at first. I do all kinds of things. I dance at the free Zumba in the park every Saturday. I attend support group. I go to the library. I think about you, all day, every day.  _

_ They mean what do I do for a job. How do I make money. That’s all anybody cares about around here. The answer to that isn’t nearly so interesting. I clean house for an old man. It’s not an interesting job, but it pays enough for me to afford a flat of my own. A flat of my own! Can you believe it? With a kitchen and a bathroom and everything. It’s all mine. When I find you, maybe it will be ours. At least until we can leave the Aphrodite Bubble. _

_ All day, every day, _

_ Mummy _

Cormoran raised an eyebrow at this. He didn’t know what an Aphrodite bubble was, but it sounded vaguely drug-related. He went back to reading.

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ I found a second job! In addition to cleaning the old man’s house, I’m tutoring children at a school. It pays alright. I’m eating at the soup kitchen, so I can save up some money. Once I have enough I will hire somebody to find you. For the first time in a long time I have hope that we might actually be together. _

_ Love and hope,  _

_ Mummy _

 

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ I met a girl here who they call Rabbit. I told her that I called you my baby bunny. They call her Rabbit out of cruelty, because she has teeth that stick out in front. I told her that it was actually a great compliment, because rabbits are actually very soft, and lovely, and smart. Rabbits can be taught tricks, and they’re very clean animals. That’s why I call you my bunny: because you are also soft, and lovely, and smart, and clean. _

_ Love love love, _

_ Mummy _

  
  


_ Little Bunny, _

_ Remember how I told you about the girl they call Rabbit? I tutored her today. She’s funny. She’s pale all over, almost transparent, with white hair and white-blue eyes and a soft little threadbare voice. It’s like a lack of love has sapped all the color from her. She’s teased a lot, for her sticking-out teeth and her albinism. She’s around ten years old, and always asking questions. Today she asked me where I got my accent, and I told her I was from Earth. She got so excited.  _

_ “Is it true earth has no Artificial Atmosphere?”  _

_ “Yes,” I said, “it still has enough natural atmosphere to sustain life.” _

_ “How do people breathe there?”  _

_ “We wore masks.” _

_ “Do you miss it?” _

_ “Sometimes. But I like it here too.” _

_ “Why did you leave?” _

_ “My mother got sick and died. We came to the Aphrodite Bubble to find my father.” _

_ “Where’s your dad now?” _

_ “We never found him.” _

_ “Who’s ‘we’?” _

_ “Me and my brother, Abas.” _

_ “Have you ever seen a bomb go off?”  _

_ “No.” _

_ “Have you ever been shot at?” _

_ “No. Let’s get back to your homework.” _

_ I’ve never met my dad, your grandfather. I knew that he had been a soldier from the Aphrodite Bubble, who came during the war to help train the Earth soldiers. I knew my dad was white, like the church kids who would come to our village every summer to build unstable tin houses. That’s where I got my light hair and blue eyes. Before Mum got sick, she would tell me stories about my dad. She said that he was handsome, and brave, and he loved us very much, but he couldn’t stay in the Hermes Bubble because he was a soldier and he had been stationed elsewhere. Who knows if any of that is true. It doesn’t matter. _

_ Love love love forever, _

_ Mummy _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My job has a program that gives work training to refugees, and I've had the opportunity to get to know them and hear some of their stories. One thing that one man said that stuck out to me was that "It's like living on another planet. It's like I'm in a science fiction movie." So I took that and ran with it.


	18. Dale

Cormoran spent all of Saturday tailing Peroxide and didn’t get to Dale’s building until that evening. The building was so similar to Sian’s it could have been the same one. Moldering brick, iron railings, bars on the windows. 

The door was answered by a girl with a round face and thick dark eyebrows, and hair pulled up into two buns above each ear. In spite of the chill outside, she was wearing nothing but high-waisted denim shorts and a bra made out of what looked like pink plastic. Her eyelids glittered with iridescent pink eyeshadow that shimmered in the light and made Cormoran feel slightly dizzy. She held a newborn baby in one arm and a pipe in the other.

“Hi, I’m looking for Dale,” he said.

“I’m Dale,” the girl said, “How can I help you?”

Cormoran’s eyes widened in surprise.

“ _ You’re _ Dale?”

“Yeah. Who’s asking?” Her breath smelled strongly of alcohol, and she moved in a cloud of pot smoke. The baby started fussing on her hip.

“My name is Cormoran Strike.”

“Okay Cormoran, what do you want?”

“Did you know a girl named Sian Carw?”

The girl’s face fell for a moment.

“Sharny? Yeah I knew her.”

“Could I talk to you about her?”

The girl squinted a shimmering pink eyelid. “Are you one of the ones she warned us about?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, she said in meeting that people would come around and ask questions and that we shouldn’t answer them. Is that you?”

“No. She hired me.”

“Hmm. Well I’m not high enough to betray her quite yet.” She grinned. “But the night is still young. Come on inside.”

The flat was soft and comfortable, with wall-to-wall carpeting and bright pillows everywhere. A man with a shaved head and a skull tattooed across one shoulder sat at a table in the corner, smoking from a hookah. A large girl with a red mohawk sat across from him in nothing but a bra and cut-off shorts, sucking on a blunt. 

“That’s Kurt,” Dale said, “And his girlfriend Janice. They’re crashing here for a minute.”

Kurt nodded over the hookah.

The baby on Dale’s shoulder gave a wet cough. “Oh, yeah, and this is their baby, Beau.” Beau started to wail.

“Christ, he just never shuts up,” Kurt muttered.

“It’s the cough,” Janice said, “I don’t know why it won’t go away.” She took a long pull at her joint and held out her arms for her son. Dale passed the baby over gratefully.

Cormoran looked around the flat. A large psychedelic painting of two girls having sex in bright neon colors was on one wall. The other walls were covered in photos of Dale. They were high-quality model shots: Dale as a sexy kitten, Dale in handcuffs, Dale eating cake in the bathtub.

“I’m a model,” Dale said proudly, when she saw him looking. Cormoran just nodded. “You want a toke?” she asked, handing him her pipe.

“No thanks, I don’t smoke.”

“I can’t trust you if you’re sober,” Dale said, winking, “I won’t say a word.” 

“Pot makes me paranoid,” Cormoran said. Dale pantomimed zipping her lips shut. Cormoran sighed and took the offered pipe, hoping that a few puffs wouldn’t render him completely stupid.

“That’s better,” Dale said, “So tell me about yourself. Why are you looking into Sharny?”

“I’m a private investigator. Sian hired me to find her child, who was given up for adoption two years ago.”

“A private investigator… So you fight crime and stuff?”

“Something like that.”

“Sounds exciting.”

Cormoran shrugged and took a tiny breath of the pipe. He tried to hide his gag reflex, unsuccessfully. He had always hated pot. Dale laughed.

“What’s wrong with his leg?” Kurt said loudly.

“Fuck off, Kurt,” both girls said in unison.

“I lost it in Afghanistan,” Cormoran said.

“Aw, poor kid,” Janice said. Cormoran resisted the urge to remind Janice that he was at least fifteen years older than everybody in the room and hardly in the position to be called a kid.

“Ignore them,” Dale said, taking a drag on her blunt, “So you basically snoop through people’s shit for a living?” 

Cormoran hesitated, trying to gauge an appropriate answer.

“I… answer questions,” he said.

“Yeah, but by going through people’s shit.”

“Sometimes.”

“Wow. Do you ever find really weird shit? Like dead bodies or something?”

“I have, on occasion, found dead bodies, yes.”

Kurt piped up again.

“How do you get a job as a detective with one leg?” he asked, “Don’t you need to, like, walk and shit?”

“Lots of medication,” Cormoran said. He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but his three new associates burst into laughter. 

“That’s funny!” Dale said, “This guy is funny. I like him. I like you.”

“So can I ask you about Sian Carw?” Cormoran asked.

“Sian?” Janice said, pronouncing it  _ Shee-anne _ , “Wasn’t she that skinny Muslim chick?”

“She was Afghan, you racist fuck,” Dale shot back, “Not every brown chick is Muslim.” She sighed and turned back to Cormoran. “Yeah, I guess you can ask. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to answer.”

Cormoran pulled out his notepad, relieved.

“Did she ever say anything about any family or friends?”

“Just that she was from Afghanistan. She came here when she was ten. She also talked about traveling on boats through Greece and Wales and stuff, so I assumed she didn’t come here completely legally.”

“How did you two meet?”

“Rehab meetings. I only went cause it was court mandated. But Sharny, she was the real deal. She really wanted to get clean.”

“And you two dated?”

Dale shrugged.

“No, not really. I guess. We hung out a couple times. She had never been with a girl before, and was pretty hesitant. She had PTSD, which I have too, so she was pretty freaked about physical stuff. I touched her once and she went through the roof, crying, shaking, all that shit.”

“And she didn’t reveal anything about her past life in meetings?” 

Dale’s face turned cool and guarded.

“Nothing that would help you find her baby.”

“Do you know why she had PTSD?”

“No.”

“Look,” Cormoran leaned forward. “I need to know if she was suicidal. Okay? Did you have any clues about what she was planning?”

“I don’t know what this has to do with anything,” Dale said, “How will this help you find her baby?”

Janice let out a large theatrical gasp.

“Are you suspecting that it wasn’t suicide?” Janice asked, jumping up from her spot at the table, “Are you thinking…  _ Murder _ ?” 

“I just want to get a greater picture of who she was, that’s all.”

Dale sighed.

“Look, I’ve lost people to suicide. And I’ve attempted suicide myself. It’s not always predictable. Look at Robin Williams, for fuck’s sake. Always happy and laughing. You just don’t know. I wasn’t worried about Sharny, but that doesn’t mean anything. You just never know.”

“She never left you a note, or gave you anything? Gave you any indication that she was trying to kill herself?”

“No, nothing like that. She said she was writing a novel, but she never showed it to me.”

“A novel. What about?”

“Some sort of sci-fi shit that was all a metaphor for her life. Like I said, she never showed it to me.”

“Did she ever mention anything called the ‘Aphrodite Bubble’?”

“Is that some kind of drug thing?”

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to figure it out.”

“No, not that I can remember.”

“Did she mention that she had a baby to you?”

“No.”

“Is there anybody else you recommend I talk to?”

“Have you talked to that weird teacher yet?” Dale asked.

“Peter Balena?” 

“Yeh. They were always getting lunch and stuff. Weird as fuck. If he wasn’t asexual I’d say there was something going on there.” 

“My colleague has spoken with him.”

“What is his  _ deal _ ?”

“Did she have any friends?”

“Nah, she was a lone wolf. She never talked to anybody about anything. Honestly, she barely ever spoke in meeting, just to say how long she was sober for and where she was from. She was hot, but not very fun.”

“That’s why you don’t fuck the help,” Kurt chimed in.

“Jesus Christ, Kurt,” Dale snapped, “I swear weed makes you even more racist than you normally are.”

“I’m not racist,” Kurt said, holding up his hands, “She was a  _ maid _ . How the hell does saying her profession make me racist?”

“She was a maid?” Cormoran asked, “I thought she was a tutor.”

“She was both,” Dale said, “Tutoring was her main gig, but she also cleaned houses now and then to make ends meet. Mainly just this one dude. Usually she didn’t like men, but he was like ninety-two and had an oxygen tank, so I don’t think he was much of a threat. Rich as balls, too.”

“Do you remember his name?”

Dale barked out a laugh.

“Yes, actually, cause it was so weird. Gorman. Sharny and I had a good laugh about that. Gorman Schwam. He had some lung issues, couldn’t get around much.”

“Thank you very much.”

 

The second installment of Peter Balena’s translation was waiting in Cormoran’s inbox when he got home.

 

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ The girl they call Rabbit reminds me of myself at that age, which is surprising considering that she’s white, and from the Aphrodite Bubble, and from a wealthy family, while I’m brown, and from Earth, and grew up in a house made of corrugated tin. But, like her, I was a quiet, curious, desperate kind of child. My mind was always wandering, making up stories and fantasy worlds. I would spend hours with my mum in front of our busted old TV, hooked on the latest soap opera or cartoon. Mami was too sick to do much else but watch TV. It was the shrine of our house; even if we had holes in the roof or had to skip meals, paying for the TV was always the priority. I would imagine that the characters were my friends, and I would have long imaginary conversations with them while I did my chores. I loved dipping into fantasy worlds. I had three books of my own: my school reader, Alice in Wonderland, and the D’Aulaires Book of Greek Myths. The latter two had been given to me by visiting cult groups. I read those books obsessively. I read them until the binding split.  _

_ I suppose I’m a quiet, curious, desperate kind of adult as well. Maybe that’s why the girl called Rabbit is my favorite student. The other students are loud and boisterous and laugh with all their teeth. They all seem so young to me now, barely more than babies. Even the old ones, thirteen and fourteen, look like little children. They seem so young, but then I was two years younger than Bunny when I left Earth. I felt like a proper adult back then. _

_ I left home and earth when I was eight. I was sleeping in my hammock when my brother Abas shook me awake. He told me to put my things in my backpack, because we were leaving. He said that we were going to find my dad. _

_ It wasn’t a surprise. Nearly all of our friends and family had already either left for the refugee camps or died. The pollution caused sickness, and sickness caused hysteria, and hysteria caused people to run to whatever gang or religious cult or corrupt leader they could. The only reason we stayed as long as we did was because Abas was a drug runner for the cult called the Titans, and had their protection. Mum was too sick to go anywhere, and with the cult having our back we were safe enough to stay. Until the cult leadership changed, and suddenly it wasn’t safe anymore. And then there was Abas, shaking me awake, telling me it was our time to leave.  _

_ I didn’t ask Abas if Mum was coming with us to the Aphrodite Bubble. I knew she wasn’t. She was already pretty much gone, too sick to move, just lying in front of the TV all day with mucus coming out everywhere, seeping into the couch until the sofa was like a giant sponge of disease. It wasn’t a sad thing. She’d been sick for a long time. So long I couldn’t remember her ever being well.  _

_ I don’t think it ever occured to me that we would be gone forever. I was eight, what did I know about forever? And even if I hadn’t wanted to go, what was I going to do about it? Stay behind? With no money, and angry cult members after us, and a mum on her deathbed? Leaving with Abas was the only possibility.  _

_ We rode his motorbike all night without stopping. I remember I desperately had to pee, but Abas refused to stop the bike for anything. Instead he distracted me by talking about how we were going on an adventure, we were going to see the world, this was the kind of thing stories were written about. He told me that we were going to a place where nobody got sick. We were going to the place where TV was real. I didn’t understand that, and thought that everything would be a cartoon. As we rode I imagined what I would look like as a cartoon. _

_ By the time the sun rose we’d made it to the desert.  _

_ The desert was deadly, and the gangs and cults all stayed away from it, so we could stop for food and bathrooms. Soon, though, I was begging Abas to just keep going. It was just an endless expanse of sun and sand. The smog of the city usually protected us from the sun, but out in the desert it shone down hotter than anything I’d ever known. Nothing survives out there. Not snakes, not bugs. By the first night my skin was blistering. By the second night we were both seeing imaginary oceans in front of us. On the third night Abas caught me trying to drink the gasoline from the tank. He was too tired to hit me. Instead he took me in his arms, something he hadn’t done in years, and we laid back on the sand together, staring up at the sky, my head on his chest. he pointed out all of the different stars in the sky. I had never seen stars before, the pollution was too bad back home.  _

_ “That red star, there, that’s called the Red Planet. It has four artificial atmospheres, built after the Earth became too polluted. There’s the Cimmera Bubble, the Planitia Bubble, and the Meridani Bubble.” _

_ “Do chimeras live on the cimmera bubble?” I asked. _

_ “I don’t know what that word is.” _

_ “In Greek myths it’s-“ _

_ “I’m sorry I asked.” He had never had patience for my stories. He pointed to another star, close to the horizon. “You see that star, the extra bright one?” _

_ “Yeah.” I didn’t. They were all bright to me. _

_ “That’s called the morning star. That’s where we’re headed.” _

_ “That has the Aphrodite Bubble.” _

_ “Yep. And other artificial atmospheres too. The Aphrodite Bubble is our destination, but there’s also the Guinivere Bubble, which provides water and fish; the Fortuna Bubble, which provides factories and mines; and the Atalanta Bubble, which provides oil and coal.” _

_ “How will we get there?” _

_ “Tomorrow we arrive at a train station, where we’ll board the Serpent.” _

_ I’d heard about the Serpent before. Long before I was born, scientists had tried to create a train of ships that encircled the solar system, linking all of the Artificial Atmospheres in one united group. It was a massive project, and one that eventually lost funding. Most people had private ships, anyways, that were faster and safer. So the effort was determined futile and the plans were scrapped, but the trains remained, a little-known way to travel between bubbles. Because it’s so old, it goes undetected by the border patrol’s radar. Even so, most don’t want to risk it.  _

_ “The Serpent will take us to the Aphrodite Bubble?” I asked. _

_ “No, the Aphrodite Bubble’s security is too strong. The Serpent only takes us as far as the Guinevere Bubble. We’ll have to sneak into the Aphrodite Bubble on foot.” _

_ “How?” _

_ “We’ll figure that out when we get there. For now we just have to focus on surviving the Serpent. From the moment we get to the station to the moment we land in the Guinivere Bubble, you cannot leave my side. Do you understand?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “There will be a lot of desperate people on the train, who will see you as weak, and who will try to take advantage of you.” _

_ “I’m not weak.” _

_ “You’re strong for your age. I know that. But you’re also small, and there are going to be big people there, who can pick you up with one hand.” _

_ “People bigger than you?” _

_ Abas smiled, and I could see his teeth glinting in the moonlight. _

_ “No, nobody bigger than me.” _

_ It was true. At sixteen, Abas was six feet and four inches and built like a bull. He was tattooed from head to toe, and had a mouth full of metal fangs instead of teeth. His quietness was often mistaken as intimidation. In actuality Abas was shy and very awkward, incapable of speaking to pretty girls, and especially fond of cats. He had been born with only baby teeth, so our uncle, a blacksmith, made him a set of cast iron dentures because we couldn’t afford a real pair. _

_ “That’s why you can’t leave my side,” Abas continued, “Until we reach Guinevere, you are to stay within my sight at all times. Do you understand?” _

_ “Yes.” _

_ “Good.” The morning star looked awfully far away. “How long will it take?” _

_ “In our time? About a year.” _

_ A year! _

_ “I’ll be nine when we land.” _

_ “Almost ten.” I think he sensed my anxiety about this. “Imagine that,” he said, “You’ll celebrate your birthday in space! Surrounded by stars!” _

_ My brother was a lot of things: he was a drug dealer, an addict, a gang member. He was sometimes violent and often cruel. But when I think of him, I try to remember him the way he was that night, desperate for opportunities and drunk on our future.  _

_ With love and hope, _

_ Mummy _

  
  


_ My dear bunny, _

_ I take the train here sometimes, the one that flies through the air. I don’t like it. It’s loud, and hot, and there’s too many people. If you’re still living in the Aphrodite Bubble, you probably take the trains as well. _

_ People call the Serpent a train, but it isn’t really a train, it has no tracks or seats or connected cars. Instead it’s a series of small ships that go short distances, stopping at various space stations about every few earth days, linking the whole solar system together. We transferred ships over one hundred times before reaching the Guinevere bubble. Being as old as they are, most ships are painfully slow, only 18000 miles per hour, and they can only go about two days before needing to stop and refuel. It’s nearly one hundred years old, so the insulation is archaic and falling to pieces, making it hot and heavy. Because the Serpent is so old, it bypasses all of the ordinary tracking devices: we were completely untraceable by other ships. This was good, as it meant we could slip in and out of most ports unnoticed by border patrols. However, it also meant that no other ships could see when we were nearby, making us especially prone to collision. The small ships were constantly weaving in and out, dipping, making hairpin turns. We were on board for almost a year, and I don’t think I ever truly got used to the constant motion. During takeoff and landing gravity became so dense that we would be paralyzed, blind, barely able to breathe under the weight of it. I once saw a child’s rib cage get crushed from the weight of the air. Then once we left gravity, decompression sickness would cause the bends, making people go insane with euphoria and then pain as bubbles formed in their veins. Then there were other issues to worry about. Drugs, rape, theft. We were crammed together, usually fifty at a time, packed in so tightly we could barely turn around. There was no concept of time in space, so the lights always stayed on, and you had to grab sleep when you could, while weightless. We shared one toilet, and only had the food, water, and supplies that we brought from home or could buy or steal during our stops at the stations along the way.  _

_ Abas was right, there were people on the Serpent who could have crushed my skull for a sip of water and who probably would have, too, if it wasn’t for Abas. Even among the worst of the worst, everybody was scared of Abas. He had “FUCK YOU” literally tattooed across his forehead, as if his face itself wasn’t enough to scare you off.  _

_ Wishing you all the good things, _

_ Mummy _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Serpent is based on La Bestia, which goes across Mexico. After writing it I realized that Sian is coming from Afghanistan, but I assume that there's similar underground railroads all over the world.


	19. Gorman Schwam

It wasn’t overly difficult to find Gorman Schwam’s contact information, not only because of the uncommon name. Schwam had been the owner of an elite auction house in Southgate, and was a low-level celebrity in his own field. When Robin called, a woman with a light Polish accent answered the phone.

“Hallo, you have reached Schwam Auction Rooms.”

“Yes, I am calling for Mister Schwam, actually. My name is Venetia Hall, and I’m one of his lawyers.”

“Mister Schwam is not here,” the woman on the phone said.

“Oh. Is there any way I could contact him? It is rather urgent. It’s about…” Robin cast about for a reason. “It’s about his will.”

“You said that your name was Venetia Hall?”

“Yes.”

“Alright. He is currently staying at the Royal London Hospital. Third floor.”

“Thank you.”

 

The Royal London Hospital was a modern building, somehow boxy and beautiful at the same time, a shade of shimmering blue that reminded Robin of a swimming pool. Inside it seemed more like a shopping mall than a hospital. 

Robin found the third floor easily, and approached the front desk.

“Hello, my name is Venetia Hall,” she said, “I’m here to visit Gorman Schwam?” 

The receptionist raised an eyebrow.

“Schwam? That’s a first. Hasn’t had any visitors at all. Here, I’ll take you to him.”

Robin followed the nurse down the sterile white hallway.

“What’s he in for?”

“A malfunction in his oxygen tank. He has emphysema. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“How long ago did this happen?”

“Last week. The damage to his lungs was severe, and he’s needed constant supervision since then.” The nurse opened the door to room 202. “I don’t know how much you can get out of him. Speech causes him enormous discomfort, so if he needs to communicate he writes on a whiteboard. He hasn’t used it much.”

The old man lay shrouded up to his neck in the thin blue hospital blankets, his bald head looking like a brown speckled egg resting in a blue nest. He had a nebulizer in his mouth that puffed out clouds of steam whenever he exhaled. The nurse put on a loud voice, dripping with false cheer.

“Mister Schwam, I have a visitor for you.” The man’s eyes cracked open and he glanced at Robin without turning his head. Confirming that he didn’t know her, he shut his eyes again.

“Good luck,” the nurse whispered, the backed out. 

Robin approached slowly and sat at the chair by his bed.

“Mr. Schwam, my name is Venetia. I’m…” She considered using her full title, then decided against it. “I’m a friend of Sian Carw.”

The man’s eyes opened again.

“I heard that she worked for you for a while, cleaning your house. Is that right?”

The man narrowed his eyes, then pointed to a small whiteboard and marker on a table nearby. Robin handed it to him and watched as he began to write. It was a slow process, as his hands were shaky with age, but finally Robin read:

YOU ARE NOT HER FRIEND. HER FRIENDS CALL HER SHARNY.

“I know that, sir. I just wanted to make sure you knew who I was talking about.”

I’M SICK, NOT STUPID.

“I can see why Sian liked you.” In reality Robin could see nothing of the kind, but she figured flattery couldn’t hurt.

SHE WAS A GOOD KID.

“She was.”

I DON’T BELIEVE IT.

“About her suicide?”

The man winced.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

DIRTY WORD.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and waved a hand, absolving her.

SUICIDE IMPLIES THAT SHE IS TO BLAME.

Robin raised her eyebrows.

“Do you think she was killed?”

The old man labored over the whiteboard, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. 

WHETHER IT WAS HER HAND OR ANOTHER, SOMETHING PUSHED HER TOWARDS IT. 

“Can you tell me anything, anything at all, that might help me find her baby?”

WERE YOU THE ONE WHO ROBBED ME?

“I… What?”

WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?

“I’m working for Sian. She hired me.”

SHARNY SAID TRUST NO ONE.

“You can trust me. She trusted me.”

Gorman pressed the “call nurse” button and curled over onto his side, cutting off from Robin.

 

Cormoran went to the address attached to the foster-child named Dominica, an old church that had been renovated into a group home. He sat outside, grateful that there had been a break in the week’s rain. Cormoran had researched the home online ahead of time. It seemed a perfectly decent sort of place, lots of photographs of laughing children, plenty of fostering and mentorship programs. While the inside had been remodeled in cheerful colors, the outside had kept the gothic church exterior, giving it a vaguely creepy, Dickensian vibe. 

He and Lucy had never gone into the system, although they had both known a number of children who had, for better and for worse. He supposed that Joan and Ted had been something like foster parents to the two of them; not official guardians, but close enough to step in when called for. He remembered how angry Joan used to get when Leda would whisk the children away again. Joan tried to keep her rage a secret from Cormoran and Lucy; she knew that they still loved Leda in spite of everything. 

Cormoran was struck with the sudden memory from his childhood. He had been seven or eight, staying in St. Mawes. He had woken up to use the bathroom, and had heard voices downstairs. He had crept down and crouched in the shadows of the stairwell, watching through the railing. His aunt Joan had been shaking with rage, Ted trying to calm her down. 

_ “She can’t take them back,” Joan was saying, “She can’t. I won’t let her.” _

_ “She’s their mother,” Ted had murmured.  _

_ “She doesn’t deserve to be their mother. Those kids will die in her care.”  _

_ Ted hadn’t had an answer to that. Joan had gone on. “Sometimes I think it would be better for the kids if she’d just disappear.” _

Cormoran’s thoughts were interrupted as the door to the group home opened, and two caregivers led seven children outside in a single file line. One child was wearing a party hat and carrying a balloon, and Cormoran assumed it was some sort of birthday celebration. He followed at a safe distance. He wished that Robin was there, she was much less suspicious when it came to following large groups of children. 

The children ranged in age from around two to six. He recognized Dominica almost immediately, her being the youngest, and the only one still in a pushchair. She had brown hair with a tint of red, and caramel-colored skin. Cormoran thought that she could be a baby model. She could pose for the next line of Gerber products. He wasn’t sure how exactly he would manage to spot a birth-mark on Dominica’s back, but he figured he could improvise.

The group walked along the river for a bit before arriving at an ice-cream shop. He found a park bench within eyesight of the shop and sat with a magazine, observing the children from a distance. The older children immediately ran screeching for the shop with a kind of manic fervor that made Cormoran tired just looking at them. The caregivers hovered with calls of “Only one scoop per person! Only one!”. 

Dominica stayed close to the caregivers, and was handed a small vanilla ice-cream cone. Cormoran shook his head. He was no expert with children, but he had spent enough time with the boys to know that no two-year-old had the dexterity to handle a full ice-cream cone. It lasted all on three seconds before falling all down Dominica’s front, causing a maelstrom of tears that Cormoran could hear all the way across the street. Then she tugged at her sodden t-shirt and pulled it off over her head. Cormoran leaned forward, hoping he didn’t look too lecherous. There was no birthmark. 

“Dominica, silly girl!” the caregiver said, “Look at the mess you made!” 

Cormoran watched them until they walked back to the group home. Then he called Robin. He could hear the smile in her voice when she answered.

“Hello.”

He couldn’t help but smile too.

“Hey, Robin. I just finished tailing the group home kids.”

“Anything promising?”

“No. She took off her shirt, but there was no birthmark.” 

“She took off her shirt? Without prompting?”

“I know. She spilled ice-cream on it. It was fortuitous.” He paused, thinking. “Listen, how bonded do you think a social worker could get with an orphan?”

“Probably pretty close. Why?”

“Just theorizing. If Sian went looking around for her kid, and somebody got worried that she might take the baby back again, they might do something.”

“Like kill Sian?”

“Something like that. What are you doing now?”

“I’m heading to Gorman Schwam’s house. He said it had been robbed, and I’d like to check that out. It’ll probably be a big job. Do you want to tag along?”

“Sounds fun. Sure.”

Robin grinned on her end of the line. Cormoran was the only person she knew besides herself who would find searching an old man’s house fun.


	20. Doeddwn i erioed yma

Cormoran met Robin at Schwam’s palatial Chelsea home. It was an old terraced townhouse, painted white with neatly boxed hedges and intricate moulding around every window. With its four floors and six bedrooms, the house itself could easily sell for fourteen million pounds.

Upon further inspection, however, Robin noticed that the front doorknob was hanging from one nail, and the door was slightly ajar. She and Cormoran exchanged a glance.

“A place this fancy might have an alarm,” Cormoran said. Robin grinned. 

“I’ve got my running shoes on.”

Cormoran pushed the door open. There was no alarm. 

Inside it looked like an antique shop after an earthquake. Old typewriters and victrolas had been toppled off ornate baroque desks, dusty leather-bound books lay scattered around like snow drifts, and costume jewelry, clouded with age, glinted under the faded light of an enormous crystal chandelier. 

“Either Schwam needs to find a new housekeeper or somebody has gotten here before us,” Robin said.

“Doesn’t mean they found what they were looking for,” Cormoran said.

They went from room to room, each one more disheveled than the last. Dresser drawers had been pulled open and emptied, and the bed clothes were in a heap on the floors. Cormoran sighed. It would be a long day. 

They started with the bedroom on the ground floor. The closets were filled with fur coats that had been dumped unceremoniously onto the floor, the carpet was rolled up on one side, and a bookshelf had been tipped over and emptied. A safe under the bed had been dragged out and tipped on its side, where the door lolled open like a tongue in a gaping mouth. Inside was a binder of browning stamp collections. 

It was rare that they got to search a house together, and Cormoran admired Robin’s technique as they went along. While Cormoran usually started on one end of a room and worked his way across in a grid, Robin prioritized the areas where things were most likely to be hidden: desk drawers, under mattresses, inside books. They went from room to room. The house had been ransacked, but things of clear value had been left behind. Gold jewelry, cash, designer clothes, had all been left scattered among the rest of the things on the floor. There was a distinct lack of technology- no computers, no cell phones, not even an extension cord. 

They photographed every room carefully, but nothing seemed to stand out.

Cormoran was about to leave the last bedroom when something caught his eye. The house was full of books, but they were all splitting and dry, coated with dust, the letters deeply embossed into the paper with a printing press. In the middle of one graying stack, however, the glossy cover of a brand-new children’s book seemed to shine out like a jewel. Cormoran reached down and shifted it out from beneath the pile. It was a board book, meant for children under three. It had two rabbits on the cover, and the title was “ _Guess How Much I Love You_ ”.

“Robin.”

She rushed over to look. Cormoran opened the pages. Inside was written,

_ “Dileu'r ffeil o'r cyfrifiadur. Fe wnes i gopi. Mae wedi'i guddio'n dda.  _ _ Peidiwch ag ymddiried yn neb. Doeddwn i erioed yma.” _

Robin quickly typed it into her phone and read out,

“‘Delete the file from the computer. I did a copy. It is well hidden. Do not trust anyone. I was never here.’”

****

The day had been so busy, Robin nearly forgot that she had dinner plans with Hunter, and had to call him to say that she’d meet him at the restaurant a bit late, rather than have him pick her up. He had told her to wear something nice, so she had expected something a bit fancy, but the restaurant she pulled into was above and beyond her expectations. There was a line of limousines outside, and a gentleman in a smart tuxedo helped her with her coat. Hunter was in the far corner of the lavish dining room, a bottle of wine already on the table.

“Hunter, this is too much,” Robin said as the host pulled out her seat for her, “I can’t agree to let you treat.”

“Nonsense,” Hunter said, “It’s important to indulge every once in a while.”

“I indulge in chocolate ice-cream, not in Michelin stars.”

“Well, maybe this is how we get you started.”

“I prefer my indulgences cheap and fatty,” Robin said, grinning. Hunter grew serious.

“Sugar addiction is hard to break,” he said, “I was addicted for a long time. Most of my life.” He shook his head, a grin breaking out again on his face. “Sorry, that’s the medical student in me. I’ve seen a lot of bodies killed by fat and sugar.” 

The waiter came by and took their orders, salad for Hunter and minestrone soup for Robin. 

“Does the job make you more paranoid?” Robin asked, after he left, “Always seeing the weird ways that people can die?”

“You get used to that after a while. But yes, at first I was seeing causes of death everywhere. Does being a private investigator do that to you?”

“Most of what we do is investigate infidelity, and even though I try not to let it get to me, I think it does make me more hesitant about dating.”

“You’re out with me, aren’t you?” Hunter said. Robin grinned.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose I am.” 

“I’m honored.” He leaned back with a half-smile. “Did you always have this career goal?” Hunter asked, “Even as a child?”

“When I was little I wanted to be a cop, but that was shut down pretty fast. Not an appropriate dream for a girl.” The waiter brought them their food, and for a moment Robin was lost in the grandeur of the meal. Then she asked, “What about you, did you play mortician when other kids were playing house?”

“No… I did worse.”

“Well now you have my attention.”

“You’re going to laugh.”

“Try me.”

“I was a gymnastics kid,” he said, looking pained.

“Really! I don’t know why you find that embarrassing, that’s fascinating.”

“Leotard and everything. My mum was a big star in her day. They started training me at the age of three. I made it to the National before I irreparably injured my ankle and couldn’t continue.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“It was at first. Eventually, though, I came to see it as a liberation.”

“And your ankle. Is it still damaged?”

“Not really. I can’t do ballet, but day-to-day I'm fine. I use my flexibility in other ways.” He winked.  

“Crudeness will get you nowhere,” Robin said, grinning.

“I mean I go spelunking, God, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Spelunking. That’s one word for it.”

Robin was hesitant to admit how much fun she had with Hunter. He made her laugh, and God knew he was gorgeous as all get-out. He had a kind of boyish charm that was irresistibly likeable, and a lightness that seemed to fill the room.  _ Cormoran is so serious _ , Robin thought, then immediately banished the thought from her mind.  _ Where did that come from? _

Finally the food was finished, the table cleared, the exorbitant bill paid.

“How’d you get here?” Hunter asked.

“The train.”

“Would you like a ride home?”

Hunter's car was a work of art, a baby blue Porsche 365 that made Robin weak in the knees. She ran her hand over the sleek bonnet.

"Oh my God, Hunter," she said, "She's beautiful."

"I got her as a piece of junk," Hunter said, "My uncle fixed her up. You like cars?"

"I love cars." She slid into the passenger seat and ran her hands over the white leather upholstery. "The Porsche 365 is a lovely car. Not too gaudy."

"My uncle said it was too girly, but I think she's perfect." He opened maps on his phone. "What's your address?"

Robin gave it to him. Then he turned the key in the ignition, and Robin closed her eyes at the sound of the engine turning over, her enjoyment in the engine's purr almost erotic.

"Does she have a name?" Robin asked.

"Diana."

"Mistress of the hunt. Fitting for your name."

"Exactly." 

"I've always wanted a classic car. But I've bonded with my old rust bucket of a Land Rover. It's about as old as I am."

"Like a childhood pet."

"Exactly."

They drove in silence for a while. Robin admired Hunter's deftness with the vehicle, his light touch with the clutch and his ease of movement. Finally they pulled up in front of Robin's flat.

“Alright. Well. This is me,” Robin said.

“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” Hunter said, “I should have gone at the restaurant but I forgot. I wouldn’t bother you, but it’s a while back to my house.”

Robin hesitated for a moment, sizing up the situation, scanning Hunter for any threats, trying to discern any hidden meanings. Ned was at a late rehearsal, it would be just the two of them in the house. Suddenly Cormoran’s voice range clear in her mind.  _ Don’t ever share personal details with a person of interest on a case. _ The thought made Robin suddenly very annoyed. What was she going to do, never let anybody get close to her? Never trust anybody? Grow lonely and bitter like Cormoran?

“Sure,” she said.

**

Hunter looked around curiously at the flat.

“Nice place," he said.

“Thanks. The bathroom’s this way. Down the hall and to the left.”

“Awesome.”

He disappeared down the hallway and Robin was struck with a sudden awareness that she was in her flat alone with a man, after a date. She whirled through the rolodex of rom-coms and chick flicks in her head, trying to parse out why he was there and what he wanted, and what she wanted, and what was expected. She imagined him coming out of the bathroom to find her displayed on the couch, naked and covered in rose petals.  _ Paint me like your french girls, Hunter _ . She wondered if she should offer him a coffee or tea, if he would think it was an invitation. She wondered if she wanted it to be an invitation.

She was so lost in thought that by the time Hunter got out of the bathroom she was still standing by the open door, a look of deep concentration on her face.

“Robin?”

She jumped, and he laughed.

“Deep in thought?” he asked. Robin half-shrugged.

“Something like that.” She wasn’t sure if she should shut the door, essentially shutting it in his face and trapping him inside, or leave it open, as though she couldn’t wait for him to go. Why had they never covered these things in school?  

He stared at her in silence for a moment, and she stared at his feet. Then he reached out a gentle hand and rested a finger on her chin, angling her face upwards. Her eyes darted around like trapped flies, not knowing where to look. Hunter leaned closer.

“Robin,” he murmured, “You’re wonderful.”

She stopped breathing. She stopped thinking. She was going to drown in her own sweat. Then his mouth touched hers, and he was kissing her, and she’d forgotten how good it felt to be touching somebody else, to feel their warmth. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed kissing. Her hands came up and curled around his neck and she deepened the kiss, opening herself up to him. He was soft, and warm, and wet. Then his hand dipped down, brushing her ass. She jumped back with such force that she nearly toppled over. She hit her head on the open door behind her with a dull thunk.

“Jesus Christ,” Hunter said, “Are you okay?”

Tears filled up in Robin’s eyes, making her see double.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I’m just confused. I thought-”

“I know, me too, I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

“Robin, did somebody… hurt you?”

Robin looked down, tipping the pool of tears that had been balancing on her lower lid.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hunter said, “I’m sorry.”

She took deep breaths, but didn’t speak. Neither of them looked at each other. 

“Okay,” Hunter said, “I should go. I’m sorry.”

Robin shut her eyes as he left, then shut the door behind him. She climbed into bed and sat under the covers and cried.

 

_ Dear Bunny, _

_ I was thinking about fathers today. I never knew mine. Abas tried to fill that role, but how could he? He was only eight years older than me, and hadn’t been properly raised himself. My mum, your grandmother, used to say that our family was cursed when it came to men. I never knew my grandfather, or my father, or your father (although I have suspects). I hope you’ll find some kind of male role model along the way. You might be adopted now, with a dad or two of your own. You certainly won’t see me with a boyfriend or a husband.  _

_ Abas and I never had a father. But we did have Musa. And for a while he was good enough for us.  _

_ We met Musa on the Serpent. He was very short and very skinny, only a bit bigger than me. Often new thugs on the Serpent would mistake him for easy prey, but Musa was slippery. He was resourceful. He had already done the trip on The Serpent twice before, so he knew how it worked. He knew tips and tricks: what station had the best nutrition supplements, when to stock up on water, when to barter hard and when to let go. While the others saw him as small and useless, I saw him for what he truly was: an invaluable resource. He was older than us both, around thirty, and from the Red Planet. He had already gotten inside the Aphrodite Bubble years before, but had been caught and kicked out. This was his second time on the Serpent, and he’d already been traveling for almost a year longer than us by the time we met him.  _

_ I broached the topic to Abas gently. _

_ “Have you noticed the guy named Musa?” I asked, “He seems to know what he’s doing.” _

_ “Don’t start,” Abas growled. _

_ “Don’t start what?” _

_ “You want us to form an alliance of some kind. It’s not going to happen.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “Because nobody can be trusted. Nobody. You let someone get close, they take advantage. They cut your throat when you sleep.” _

_ I opened my mouth to argue, but one look from him and I dropped the subject.  _

_ But I watched, and I learned. I saw that Musa kept all of his belongings in a locked safe, with a combination lock that he changed every day. He somehow always had water to clean himself with, while the rest of us lived in squalor. He tied himself down when he slept, to simulate gravity, and he never seemed to get sick like the we did.  _

_ I also watched as Goat, one of the most violent passengers, began making passes at Musa. Musa was very pretty for a man, although I don’t think that had much to do with it. Goat wanted power, and having Musa under his control would have given him that. Goat never managed to succeed in his endeavors, but we all knew it was only a matter of time.  _

_ Then Abas got sick.  _

_ We all got decompression sickness at some point. It was inevitable when the air pressure was always changing so quickly. Usually it just resulted in joint pain or lesions, or a tingling all over like you had bugs under your skin. When it got really bad, though, it caused a slow and agonizing death, fire in your veins, seizures, until an embolism finally finished you off. Ideally a decompression chamber would cure you, but where could you find something like that? The other solution was to flood your system with oxygen, but an oxygen tank was almost as rare. You could trade a month’s food or a week’s water for one oxygen tank, but then hunger or thirst would take you anyways.  _

_ Abas already wasn’t well. He had started snorting Moon Dust when he dealt it for the cult, and it clogged up his lungs, causing a horrible black cough. He often traded his food and water for a pinch of the drug, which meant that he was usually half-starved and desperately dehydrated.  _

_ The compression as we left the Destiny space station was especially bad. The whole car was groaning and clutching our ears as we launched. Everyone had tried various methods to reduce the inner ear pain: steam, chewing, yawning, but in the end your eardrums either ruptured or they didn’t and there wasn’t much you could do but get through it. Once we hit Decompression altitude, most of us relaxed. Except for Abas. He kept on groaning, clawing at his shoulders and elbows, unable to speak for the pain.  _

_ “Abas,” I said, “where does it hurt?” _

_ He took a shuddering breath and shook his head, eyes wild and rolling.  _

_ “Talk to me, Abas, what do I do?” _

_ “Elbows…” he gasped, “Shoulders…” _

_ “Can you move them? Can you breathe?” _

_ I touched his shoulder and he let out a noise I’d never heard from another human. I dropped my hand, panic constricting my throat. I looked around the room for a sympathetic face, but everyone averted their eyes. Nobody wanted to mess with Abas. My tears were floating in the air around my face. _

_ “Abas, please.” _

_ His metal teeth were bared, a choking sound coming from his throat.  _

_ “Please don’t leave me, Abas.” _

_ Then there he was, Musa, grabbing Abbas by the ears and shoving an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. He turned the oxygen tank up to full flow, a gale-force flow of 100% oxygen straight down Abas’s throat. _

_ “What’s happening to him?” I asked. _

_ “His blood is carbonating in his veins,” Musa said, “Ideally we’d get him down to lower altitude, but that’s not going to happen. We’re just going to have to cross our fingers and hope that the oxygen will be enough.” _

_ I don’t know how long it took. It felt like weeks. Once one tank ran out, Musa replaced it with another. I don’t know how he’d managed to get that many oxygen tanks, or how he’d managed to store it all. That much oxygen must have cost two month’s worth of water, and in giving it to Abas, Musa was almost guaranteeing death by dehydration.  _

_ The oxygen kept Abas alive for two days, until we landed and his pressure equalized enough for the bubbles in his blood to dissipate.  _

_ Musa and Abas never voiced their alliance out loud. It was never official. But nobody ever saw Goat again, and Musa rode with us the rest of the way. _

_ Musa wasn’t our friend. There weren’t friends on The Serpent, not really. When you’re fighting for life, for air, for food and water and dignity, relationships are both more intimate and more tenuous. But he taught us how to get by: how to lie flat on your stomach when the air got too heavy, how to turn urine into freshwater with a plastic bag and a piece of tubing, how to manage on little sleep. He also taught us a little bit of English, enough to get by once we reached the Aphrodite Bubble. We developed a secret code of movements and signals to show what resources we had scavenged, so that nobody else would overhear and try to rob us. A thumb and forefinger together meant water, a pinky across the lower lip meant bread, pulling on an earlobe meant cheese, and so forth. In return for his expertise, he got Abas’s protection and our shared resources. _

_ Love always, _

_ Mummy _

 

_ My dear baby bunny, _

_ Last night I woke up, thinking that I could hear you crying. It’s been about a year, now, since I let you go, but I’m dreaming about you more than ever. You’re close to me, I can feel it. That’s the only reason I stay here, in the Aphrodite Bubble. I know you’re here, and I won’t leave until I find you.  _

_ I hate it here. I hate having to always look over my shoulder, I hate the business and the stink, I hate the cars that go too fast and yell at you when you try to cross. There’s rules here, rules I haven’t quite mastered. When do you make eye contact, when do you look away? What side of the street do you walk on? When do you say hello? When do you sit on the train and when do you let somebody else sit? I hate being jostled and crowded and never knowing who’s watching me. _

_ When I find you, I’m going to take you away from here. I don’t care who I have to steal you away from. I’m going to take you away from this God-forsaken city and we’re going to go to the Guinevere Bubble together. You’ll never have to be afraid there. We can live on a farm by the sea, and raise fat fluffy sheep, far away from all people. It will be just the two of us, and it will be perfect. _

_ I landed on the Guinevere Bubble on the morning of my tenth birthday. We hurdled through the atmosphere in a great ball of fire, a shooting star, and we landed, bobbing slightly, in the Bubble’s artificial sea. God above, when they opened up the hatch and the smell of salt and wind and sun came pouring in, we all let out a collective gasp. We had stopped at about one hundred stations along the way, some with gravity simulations and sun lamps, but nothing with an artificial atmosphere. It was the cleanest air I’d ever breathed, and it affected me like a drug. Abas pulled me out into a dingy that would sail us to land, and I couldn’t stop laughing, just from the sheer joy of it. A cold wind was blowing us towards the shore, and one of the women started singing. It was raining. It was beautiful. _

_ That’s where I want to take you, that place filled with sheep and rain. The Guinevere Bubble is a desolate old artificial atmosphere with about three million people spread out across 8,000 miles, so small that it’s often overlooked by everybody. I loved it there. They have a language all their own, and they speak it in rough, scarred voices that sounds like music. The Bubble’s temperature monitor was glitchy, so it was cold there, and sometimes the pyrite snow would weaken the bubble’s surface, and the local men would have to climb up and fix it. They would come back with their suits covered in shimmering golden dust from outside.  _

_ Abas didn’t like the Guinevere Bubble. He said that the air was too heavy. He said that there weren’t enough people, and the people who were there were quiet and hard. It didn’t help that Abas was sick and we all knew it, although none of us ever said it out loud. He would cough at night, and try to muffle the sound in his sleeve. By the time we got to Guinevere Bubble he was snorting Moon Dust every night. He said he only took it to help him sleep, but after a while the dazed look he got when he was high never went away. There was a part of his brain that fell asleep and never really woke up again. _

_ Musa, Abas, and I spent about a year and a half in the Guinevere Bubble. It was one of the happiest years of my life, I think. We lived in an abandoned barn, a skeleton of rotting wood and hay. I was small and could climb up to the loft, higher than anybody else. This was good for me, because it meant that I could be somewhere safe when Musa and Abas went off during the day. I liked watching the farmers on the hills, and sometimes sheep would come close enough for me to run down and pet them. I would often beg Musa and Abas to take me along, wherever they were going, because I got bored up there. Finally I refused to go up to the loft until Abas brought me some books, so he went to a library and took some off the return cart. Abas knew his ABCs but not much else, so he chose three books at random. He just grabbed them and ran, and brought me a Guinverian language dictionary, an illustrated cookbook, and a veterinary textbook.  _

_ Those books meant everything to me. I would sit on the roof, sheltered from the rain and wind, and I could escape into a land of merengues and peach cobbler and Asian cucumber slaw. I memorized words that I didn’t even know the meaning to, words like “coniferous” or “bioluminescent”. I learned the rabbit’s respiratory system by heart.  _

_ When I find you, I’ll take you there. We’ll raise sheep and rabbits, and I’ll make you peach cobbler and cucumber slaw. I’ll teach you how to birth a cow, roll a horse, and treat a cat for ear mites. I’ll tell you the stories from Greek Myths, and we’ll have a whole room full of books. _

_ Until that day, _

_ Mummy _


	21. Crash

Robin had cried herself to sleep, and woke up feeling fragile and skinless. The rain had poured itself out during the night, and the sky was a sharp clean blue, with frost sparkling on the grass outside where the sun still had to shine. 

Robin spent the morning rereading the latest translation of Sian’s manuscript, hoping that it would make more sense on the second go-round. It didn’t. She hoped that Cormoran had made more sense out of it, and was eager to hear his opinion, so she left the flat as soon as she could, taking the Land Rover due to a delay on the trains. 

She went over the story in her head as she drove. It was strange, not quite fiction, but impossible to be read as anything else. The names seemed silly and random, the science fiction seemed pasted on. But what was the alternative? It was a secret code? 

She crested the hill that led to the office, and pressed on the brake to slow down. Nothing happened. She pushed harder. Nothing slowed. The car started accelerating down the hill, and buildings began to blur outside the window. Everything was suddenly very bright and quiet in her mind, and her skin was buzzing. 

Robin had grown up in cars. She had been driving the tractor around her uncle's farm when other kids were still using training wheels on their bikes. Tactical driving had been a joy to learn, and she had been the top of the class, impressing even her teacher, a grizzled old Irishman named Frank O’Maru who had fought through both World War Two and the Troubles and never let any of his students forget it. She rarely needed to use what she had learned in the class, besides accelerating out of a turn and always driving with her thumbs facing up. 

Now, though, speeding towards the intersection, Robin could almost hear O’Maru next to her, growling out instructions. She shifted the car into Neutral. She turned on her hazard lights and leaned on her horn to warn other drivers away from her. The car slowed somewhat as she yanked the emergency brake, but not enough to stop her at the bottom of the hill. And then all she could do was maneuver the wheel around bends and curves, and there was a red light that flickered past, and then there was a truck horn and the words “COORS LIGHT” and then an enormous white fist punching her in the face.

***

The airbags hissed and deflated, and Robin tried to make sense of where she was and what had happened. Somebody was screaming, though she heard it from a long distance. The first thing she noticed was that she had the hiccups. She tasted blood, and, probing around her mouth, she realized that she had bitten her lip quite badly, almost all the way through. Somebody was pounding on her window, and she looked up to see a hairy beast of a man yelling at her. Robin blinked at the man dazedly.

“She’s alive!” the man shouted to somebody behind him, “She’s sitting up!” He turned back to Robin, his breath fogging up the glass. “Honey!” he shouted, “Honey, are you alive?”

Robin lifted a weary hand and gave a thumbs up. 

 

***

 

Cormoran arrived, panting from having ran all the way, his leg in agony that he ignored. The Land Rover was steaming softly, making the air around it shimmer and shake like it was fabric. 

Robin was sitting on the ground, gasping for breath. Her eyes were bulging and she reminded Cormoran of a beached fish.

“Oh, Christ, Robin, are you alright?” 

Cormoran’s voice shot through the terror in her mind like a stream of water in the desert. He grabbed her hand. “Where are you hurt?” 

“M- _hic_ \- okay-’m- _hic_ \- just-” She couldn’t find the air to finish her thought. 

“Just breathe, there you go. The ambulance is on its way.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a pack of gum. “Here, chew this.” Robin looked confused, but she stuck it in her mouth and started chewing. “You’re okay,” Cormoran said, “You’re okay.” He took off his sweater and dabbed at the blood that was pouring from her nose. “Robin, love, can you look at me?” Robin turned in his direction but couldn’t meet his eye. Cormoran bent down to make eye-contact and she looked away. “Okay,” he said, “Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

Robin shook her head. It was the farthest thing from okay.

“Let’s do your exercises,” Cormoran said, “Can you breathe in for me?” 

Robin took a loud, gasping breath in that sounded like a leaky air mattress.

“Good job,” Cormoran said, “You’re doing great. Now breathe out.” Robin tried to exhale, but her lungs betrayed her and immediately sucked her breath in again in a strange half-wheeze. 

“Okay, we’re going to try that again,” Cormoran said, “Breathe out, and then wait a few seconds before inhaling again, can you do that?” 

Robin found that she could, and soon air was coming in a more predictable pattern, though the hiccups were still there. 

“There we go,” Cormoran said, rubbing a slow circle on her back, “Good job.” Robin nodded and wiped her eyes, suddenly deeply embarrassed.

“Where are you hurt?” Cormoran asked.

“M’neck. _Hic._ My shoulders.” Her nose had stopped bleeding, but her eyes were already beginning to turn purple. 

The paramedics arrived in a rush of color and noise that made Robin’s head feel like a church bell. Cormoran got up to speak to them, and Robin focused on his voice in the distance like it was the one thing holding her together.

***

Cormoran held her hand as the paramedics put her in a precautionary neck brace. He held her hand all the way to the hospital, and didn’t let go until she was in an exam room. It wasn’t a romantic gesture, it wasn’t even thought about. It was just the only natural thing to do. 

“On a scale of one to ten, one being the least pain and ten being the most, where would you rate your pain right now?” the nurse asked. 

Robin considered. She had once ruptured an eardrum as a child, which had hurt so bad she had been unable to do anything but scream. That had been worse than this pain. Being stabbed had also hurt worse, but not by much. And besides, if you gave too low of a number they wouldn’t take you seriously, right?

“Eight in my _-hic-_ neck, seven in my back.”

The nurse removed the neck brace and poked and prodded around Robin’s neck and back, asking for occasional updates to the pain scale. He asked her to wiggle her toes, and turn her head as much as she could. After about half an hour of examinations, he put her brace back on. 

“Alright, I’m going to give you a muscle relaxer right now, to help with the pain,” he said, “It will help his your hiccups too. Your neck and throat might be a little sore, so I’m going to give it to you intravenously, is that okay?” Robin nodded and closed her eyes as he prepped her arm for an IV. 

“Do you have any allergies to any medications?” the nurse asked.

“Not _-hic-_ that I know of.”

“And are you currently taking any medications?”

“No.”

Robin’s face tightened as they dug for a vein, and Cormoran grabbed her hand again, squeezing it tightly. He watched as her breath quickened in discomfort and she swallowed thickly. 

“Got it,” the paramedic said, taping down the IV tube, “You did great, Robin, you did really good.” 

Robin sighed in relief and looked down at the paramedic’s handiwork. 

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” the nurse said. and left, leaving Cormoran and Robin alone.

“You alright?” Robin asked, after a moment of quiet. Cormoran couldn’t help but huff out a laugh.

“You’re worried about  _ me? _ You’re the one that just got hit by a semi truck.”

“Well, you know. _-hic-_ Car crashes and hospitals and _-hic-_ such. Not your favorite things.”

“I don’t think they’re anybody’s favorite things,” Cormoran said. He sighed. “I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s the only thing that matters. Ever.”

Robin managed a wry smile. 

“Ever?”

Cormoran remained serious. 

“Ever.”

The nurse came bustling back in.

“Alright, Robin, you’re going to be just fine. Honestly, for a collision with a semi-truck, you’re in remarkable condition.”

“Good old Land Rover,” Robin muttered.

“The chemicals from the airbags have left burns on your arms and face, so I’m going to give you some cream for that, apply it as often as you need. You have a wrenched neck, a sprained ligament in your back, and a broken nose, but no concussion and no broken bones. You’re going to be sore for a while, so I’m going to prescribe you with pain killers, which you’re only to take once before bed for the next three days. Otherwise take two paracetamol every three hours and be sure to ice your neck and back constantly. Keep the brace on, especially when you sleep, for at least a week, when you’ll come back for a check-up and we can assess your healing.”


	22. What doesn't kill us

Cormoran drove Robin home and walked her up to her flat.

“What was that gum you gave me back there?” Robin asked. 

“Nicorette. I thought it might calm you down.”

“It worked. Why were you carrying Nicorette?”

“I’m, ah.” Cormoran sniffed. “Trying to quit smoking.”

“Oh. I see.” Now that she thought of it, Robin couldn’t remember when she last saw Cormoran lighting a cigarette. It explained his recent jumpiness and irritability. 

“Yeah.”

“Well. Good. Good for you.”

“Where’s Ned?” Cormoran asked, looking around the empty flat. 

“At an audition. He’ll be back tonight.”

“Alright. I’ll stick around until he gets here.”

“Cormoran…”

“No arguing about it.”

“I’m  _ fine. _ I’m just a little banged up,” Robin said. Cormoran tried to speak but Robin held up a hand. “How many times have you insisted on being alone when you’re injured?” she said, “Quit being such a bloody hypocrite.”

“I promise, next time I get injured, I will allow you to mother me to the full extent of your ability.”

"Can I quote you on that?"

"Yes."

Robin took out her phone and opened up Voice Memos.

"Say it again. For the record."

Cormoran rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Fine,” he said. He took the phone and hit _record_. "I, Cormoran Blue Strike, hereby swear that the next time I am injured, I will allow Robin Ellacott to mother me to the full extent of her ability."

"Thank you."

Robin collapsed onto a kitchen chair, groaning in pain.

“How are your burns?” Cormoran asked.

“Burning. Ironic, isn’t it, that the airbags that are supposed to save my life end up giving me a terrible rash.”

“Still saved your life, didn’t they?” Cormoran said, “Small price to pay, if you ask me. You want some of that burn lotion?”

Robin thought about it. Now that her muscles were no longer screaming at her, the burns on her arms seemed especially painful. 

“Okay,” she said.

“I’ll get some ice for your face while I’m at it, okay?”

“Okay. There’s an ice pack in the freezer.”

Cormoran left to dig around her flat for the first aid kit and some ice.

Robin breathed deep while he searched. She hadn’t truly had a moment to process, to go over the events of the accident, and now the magnitude of the day was starting to truly hit her. She blinked up at the ceiling and bit her lip to hide the tremble in her mouth. She tasted blood.  _Breathe in... Breathe out... Focus on the movement of your stomach as you breathe..._

“Hey,” Cormoran rumbled. His voice was low and gentle, and so comforting it nearly pushed Robin over the edge. As it was, she hurriedly wiped away one escaping tear. Cormoran knew that she wouldn’t want her emotion to be acknowledged, so he pretended he hadn’t seen anything. “I’d offer you some tea,” he said, “But your lip is still split pretty bad, and I think it would hurt.”

“I just got my brakes checked,” Robin said, half to herself, “How did this happen?”

“I’ve got the burn cream,” Cormoran said, “I also found a cold pack, some ice in a bag, and a bag of frozen peas,” He held up each one in turn. “I don’t know where you want to put it all first.” He looked her over. She had two black eyes, a split lip, and a neck brace. Her face and hands were covered in angry red burns from the airbag. Robin saw him looking her over and tried half a smile.

“Do I look like a panda?” she asked.

“The most bad-ass of pandas.” He brushed a strand of hair out of Robin’s eyes. “You did good,” he said.

“It didn’t feel good.” She sniffed. “Was he okay? The other driver?”

“Not a scratch on him. And his semi was insured.” 

“Thank God.” She shook her head. “How could my brakes give out?” she said again, “I just got them checked.”

Cormoran wrapped the bag of ice in a towel and gently held it to the side of her cheek, where a purple bruise had bloomed. She flinched away at the cold, then relaxed into it. 

“Hold that there.” He slid the back of peas under her the back of her neck brace, so that it was cooling her aching shoulders. He took out the bottle of lotion and squeezed it onto his fingers, then took her hand in his. 

Robin watched as he dabbed bits of lotion onto her raw wrist. His fingers were calloused, surprisingly warm, and his nails were wide and flat. She felt her heart pounding.  _ Excess adrenaline, child. _

“Sorry my hands are so rough,” he said.

“It’s okay.” 

He gently blew on the burn until the salve dried. Robin shivered. He reached for her other hand, and she switched the bag of ice to the other eye. 

Cormoran loved the feeling of her hands in his and tried to ignore the jump in his gut.  _ Compose yourself, Jesus. She just got in a car wreck. This is not the time. _

“That airbag sure did a number on you," he said.

“I know. It’s stupid. I should have swerved or something, but...”

“You did great. You did wonderful.” He blew on her other wrist. “How’s your pain?”

“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?” Robin intoned dryly. 

“My uncle used to say that pain was weakness leaving the body.”

Robin huffed a laugh out between her damaged lips. 

“An odd thing to tell kids,” she said.

“Ah. Yeah. It’s an old army saying. We liked to fuck with it. We’d say ‘farts are weakness leaving the body,' and just die laughing.” 

“My mum would just kiss our hurt places better.” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she realized the possible meaning and her eyes grew wide. Cormoran smiled.

“That’s a much nicer way to look at injury,” he said, “Calling pain strength just encouraged us to do dangerous shit.”

Then, before he could think his way out of it, he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Robin’s breath caught. His lips lingered on her skin, and one of her fingers twitched. His eyes met hers. 

He pulled back, slightly flushed.

“Better?” he asked, softly.

“I…” She looked down, eyelashes fluttering. Cormoran tensed. Had he crossed a line? 

“I hurt my other arm too,” she said. Cormoran stared at her for a second, while her meaning sank in. She smiled. He slowly reached for her other hand, heart pounding. He could feel her pulse beating as he pressed his mouth to her wrist. 

There was a knock on the door and Robin jumped, pulling her arm away. 

“Dinner,” she said.

“Right. Right. Yeah. You stay seated, I’ll get it.”

They ate their Chinese food in silence for a few minutes, trying not to think about what could have been had the delivery man not interrupted. 

Robin could have called Hunter, but she hadn’t. She hadn’t even told him about the accident. 

Finally she broke the silence.

“Do you think Sian was murdered?” she asked.

Cormoran mulled this over, relieved to be back in the safe waters of work. They had been treating the case like a murder investigation, but nobody had said it out loud.

“There’s no evidence to back that up,” he said.

“Yes. But what do you _think_?”

“I think there’s definitely more to this than we know.”

“Yes. I agree.” She picked at her food, then said, “I can’t help but think it’s strange. My brakes giving out right as we start investigating further.”

“You think the crash was a planned attack?”

“That makes me sound paranoid, doesn’t it.”

“The job does that. But that doesn’t mean that it has no basis. You did just take your car to the shop to get checked. Do you think the garage could have just done a shitty job on it?”

“No, I…” She turned slightly pink. “The mechanic lets me watch, and help out. She’s teaching me how to fix up cars on my own.”

“And the brakes were fine?”

“Yes.”

“Has anybody had access to your car? Could they have gotten under there?”

“I suppose. Anybody can sand down a brake line, really, if they know how.”

“Frightening thought.”

“But normally a low brake fluid light would come up long in advance. That’s harder to tamper with. They would need my keys and a good amount of know-how.”

“Have you given your keys to anybody lately?”

Robin thought, then her eyes went wide.

“God, the valet. That fucking valet.”

“When?”

“A few nights ago, I was tailing Peroxide to the hospital, and the hospital garage had valet parking. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I just handed the keys to the valet, and… God, how was I so  _ careless. _ ”

“You were not careless, Robin, there’s some things nobody can prepare for.”

“I guess.” Robin kneaded her forehead. “Besides, we don’t even know that’s what happened,” she admitted, “It could just be a freak accident.”

“What’s worse,” Cormoran asked, “Someone trying to kill you, or your skills as a mechanic being questioned?”

Robin laughed, then winced in pain. Cormoran checked his watch. 

“Time for some painkillers?” He asked. 

“Gimme my drugs,” Robin said. He handed her a pill, which she downed with water.

“You go relax on the sofa,” Cormoran said, “I’ll wash up.”

“You don’t- oh alright. Fine.” She stood with a groan and stiffly limped over to the sofa. 

Cormoran rinsed the dishes and turned on the dishwasher, then went over to join her in front of the TV. Some Disney cartoon was playing, but all of the characters were Scottish, and for some reason bears were involved. Cormoran was surprised at how much he liked it, and became completely absorbed in the story-line. After about an hour, however, he was distracted by the sound of Robin snoring. She was asleep, her hair a red stripe against her cheek, her fist balled up under her chin. 

“Hey, Robin,” he said. She grunted and opened her eye a crack. “Hey, let’s get you to bed, alright?”

She looked around, a bit confused, the painkillers in full hold.

“Mmm okay.”

“Up we go, there we go, good.”

“Hurts,” she murmured.

“I know, but once you get into bed it will feel better.”

He led Robin into her bedroom. It was a bright little room, organized and cozy, with colorful quilts on the bed and photographs of her and her family on the walls. A bouquet of flowers was in a vase on the dresser, and Cormoran wondered if they were from Hunter. He pulled the blankets back and sat her down, bending to pull off her shoes.

“Corm-ran?” Her voice was slurred, her words uneven. 

“Yes?” Successfully removing her shoes, Cormoran lifted her legs into the bed.

“D'you like my hair?"

"Do I... What?"

"My hair. D'you like it?"

"I... yes, it's very nice."

"Matthew says it's... Mm..." She yawned, temporarily losing her train of thought. She shook her head. "Matthew says it's the best thing about me."

"Matthew is a dumbass," Cormoran said. Robin giggled. 

"I do like your hair," he went on, "But there's a lot of incredible things about you." He pulled the blankets up around her. "Now get some sleep."

He was about to turn out the light when she sat up in bed. 

"Corm-ran?"

"Yes?"

"If you’d asked me… I would’ve gone with you.”

“What?”

She blinked and shook her head blearily. 

“Doesn’t matter. You didn’t ask.”

Cormoran waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. So he turned out the light and went back to the living room, where he read the next chapter of Sian’s story. He was fast asleep when Ned came home.

 

_ Dear Bunny, _

_ I went on a date tonight. With a woman. Isn’t that funny? I’m not sure if I have romantic feelings towards her, but I haven’t touched another human in almost a year and I miss being held with an agonizing desperation. Lord knows I’m never going to want a man touching me again, so this seems like the best option. Is it strange that I’m telling you this? Are mothers supposed to tell their daughters these things? As I’ve already said, my mother didn’t say much of anything. I want you to know, though. I want you to understand. _

_ The woman I saw is beautiful and strong. She swears every other word. I like her. She moves like a cat, and smiles like she has sharp teeth. It was a good evening. She talks enough that I don’t have to. Still, though, she seems very young to me. I estimate that I’m in my early twenties, but most days I feel like an elderly woman, or maybe a war veteran. This girl is all fire and youth. She lent me a book called “ _ Reclaiming Your Sexual Self _ ”, which made me alternate between laughing and crying.  _

_ She’s nice. She is. I enjoy spending time with her. But is she going to be your new Mummy? Not in a million years.  _

_ I hope that someday you’ll find somebody who you love, and who loves you. Somebody who can take care of you. It’s taken me a long time to accept that maybe not all love is bad. Maybe sometimes it works. _

_ I was in love once. Eleven years old, I fell in love with Jacob Armstrong. It was a deep, passionate force, and it hit me like a punch through the stomach. Just as surprising, just as painful. I had never felt anything so strongly before, and it was a deep hunger that consumed me, possessed me, so that I found myself acting like a complete stranger. _

_ I met Jacob in the Guinevere Bubble. He scared me at first. He looked like somebody out of a magazine. He was the healthiest person I’d ever seen. I knew white people, and I knew brown people, but Jacob was the first I’d seen who looked like me. Not quite brown, not quite white, with big blue eyes and soft dark hair. I could have passed for his sister, if I hadn’t been dirty and half-starved and bruised all over. _

_ I met Jacob at a restaurant. Abas spent the mornings doing unknown business, which I was not allowed to know about. In the evenings, though, he and I would go to various pubs and offer to sing for money. Jacob was leaning against the bar of the Blue Anchor Pub, drinking a beer. He handed us fifty pounds, which made us both stop in our tracks. Abas nodded and said, “Thank you, brother.”  _

_ Jacob smiled and said, “Thank your girlfriend, friend. She’s the reason for anything you make.” I had never received a compliment like that before. Of course I’d gotten my share of attention. You don’t ride the Serpent for a year without it, especially not when you have blue eyes and mixed coloring like me. Abas had been offered plenty for me, and I wasn’t naive. But the way Jacob said it, telling Abas to thank me, it stuck with me. Abas took good care of me, that was no question. He always gave me the bigger half, and carried me on his back when I couldn't keep up. But nobody could call him tender. When he spoke at all it was jagged and sharp, reminding me what I'd be without him.  _

_ Jacob put a finger under my chin.  _

_ “What’s your name?” he asked. _

_ I said nothing, lost in shock.  _

_ “I’ll give you another ten for your name,” he said. _

_ I told him and he smiled, showing perfect square teeth. He handed me another ten pounds. _

_ “I’m Jacob,” he said, “and I like you.” _

 

_ We went back to the Blue Anchor Pub every day for two weeks, and every day Jacob was there. The first two days he smiled and winked and gave us large bills, and I tried unsuccessfully not to turn red. The third day Jacob was distant. He didn’t turn around when we came up and waved for us to leave him alone. I was confused and hurt. I didn’t understand. The next day he was his usual smiling self, and I blossomed under his attention again.  _

_ Jacob was different from other men I’d known. He was vulnerable and open, with a sweet face and tender eyes, not the macho type that I'd known growing up. He had a way about him. I knew nothing about him, but it didn’t matter. It was sudden, shocking, childish love, that hit with the intensity that can only be felt by the very young. I’d never known anything like it before, and I’ve never felt the same way since. He was perfect. _

_ After I met Jacob, my three books seemed quaint and boring. I laid in my hayloft and dreamed of his blue eyes. I knew about sex; you couldn’t ride the Serpent and not learn more than you ever wanted to know. But in my childhood fantasies it never got that far. He would rush in, tell Abas that I deserved somebody who valued me and saw my true beauty, then he would put me on the back of his motorcycle and we would drive away. Then the picture in my mind would dissolve into light, something so good and beautiful that my sad lonely little mind couldn’t comprehend it.  _

_ About two weeks after we first met Jacob, Abas told me that we wouldn’t be going back to the restaurant. It was common for us to move around, find different customers, avoid the dangers that come from routine. I shouldn’t have been so surprised and hurt, but it was as if Abas had stabbed me. I nearly doubled over. For two weeks Jacob had been a beacon in my life, and when you’re eleven years old you don’t think rationally. I asked Abas why, and he looked confused. I had never questioned any decision of his before. He told me that he didn’t trust the people there. _

_ “I don’t like the way they look at you,” he said, “They could take you away.” _

_ I muttered under my breath, _

_ “I wish they would.” _

_ Abas grabbed my face and jerked it up to his. _

_ “What did you say?” _

_ “I wish they would. I wish they would take me away from you!” _

_ Abas slapped me hard across the face.  _

_ It wasn’t the first time he’d hit me. Once he had hit me so bad I fell and chipped a tooth. But this time I was different. Before, Abas was my only choice. He was my best possible option. This time I saw an alternative. I spent the night nursing my burning ear and dreaming of escape. _

_ The next morning, while Abas was away, I shimmied down from my spot in the barn loft and ran to the restaurant where Jacob usually sat. It was the first time I’d disobeyed Abas, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I could feel his disappointment at every step, shame pouring through my veins, but I knew that I had to see Jacob again. _

_ I had always been an incredibly passive child. I had sat silently as Abas had killed our mother. I’d followed him across the desert without question. I had stayed by his side as he pulled me along to a foreign planet, risking both of our lives. Now, though, I felt a burning of rebellion in my bones, a need to forge my own path, be my own person. Why was he the one who made all the decisions? Why was he the one in charge? Honestly, my teenage rebellion was inevitable. I think I would have eventually left Abas with or without Jacob; Jacob just happened to be the instigator. So I saw my chance and I ran to it. _

_ Love you until the end, _

_ Mummy _


	23. Rehabilitation

Robin spent most of the next day sleeping, doped up on pain meds and the after-effects of trauma and adrenaline. But on Friday morning she was out of the little blue pills, and she woke up in such deep aching pain she could barely move. She staggered down to the bathroom to get the Paracetamol from the medicine cabinet, but Ned was taking a shower. She pounded on the door.

“Ned!”

“Yes?” he called over the rushing water.

“I need the Paracetamol!”

“There’s another bottle in my bedroom! On the nightstand!”

Robin groaned and lurched her way into his room.

Ned’s bedroom was neat and bare-bones, everything in classy shades of grey and blue. The only cluttered part was his nightstand, which was so crowded with pill bottles they had to be stacked on top of each other. Robin sighed and started sorting through them. _Tybost, Trogarzo, Fuzeon_ , the names all reminded her of comic book villains. Each one had a note on it, instructing what time of day to take it, whether or not it should be taken on an empty stomach, and if it reacted with any of the other pills.

She finally found the bottle of Paracetamol at the bottom of the pile, but as she pulled it out it caused an avalanche of pill bottles to tumble off the table. Robin swore and tried to squat down to pick them up. _Isentress, Lexiva, Pifeltro_. Robin knew that Ned needed a lot of medication, but this was just ridiculous. She noticed a piece of paper on the floor, and, believing it to be a prescription, Robin picked it up.

It was not a prescription. It was a yellowing piece of folded newsprint, with a photograph of a teenage boy at the top. The boy couldn’t be over 18, red-haired and blue eyed, and he was beaming at the camera in his cap and gown, holding his diploma with pride. Below the photograph was the start of an inscription.

 _“Edward James Mcnab passed away on Tuesday, November the second, in a tragic car accident. Born in Swansea, Edward attended Monmouth School for Boys. He is remembered by his father, James...”_.

Robin hurriedly put everything back on the nightstand and went to the kitchen, clutching her Paracetamol in her hand.

She felt a bit better once she was back in bed, with a muffin and a large mug of tea. She pulled open her laptop and watched a few episodes of mindless TV, but she had trouble focusing. Her mind kept wandering. Ned, Cormoran, Hunter. She had escaped a world of brothers only to find herself surrounded by men again.

Why had she pulled away from Hunter the other night? She had enjoyed kissing him, there was no denying that. She had missed kissing, more than anything else in a relationship. And God, he had been so warm. She had forgotten how warm human touch was, and without it she felt shriveled and cold. When had she last been touched by another human? She normally gave Ilsa and Vanessa a quick hug in greeting but that hardly counted. She had never been an especially tactile person, and after quitting university she had flinched away from all human contact, even a handshake. That had relaxed, of course, and she had learned to enjoy snuggling and sex with Matthew, but she hadn’t noticed the absence after he was gone. After all, she could pleasure herself better than Matthew ever could. But physical touch, the warmth of another body, the strength of someone else’s arms around her… that was something she couldn’t give herself, and she hadn’t realized how much she had missed it until it had been there.

So why had she pulled away? Was she so deeply damaged? It was true that she had been hurt by men. Sometimes it seemed like every problem in her life had been caused by men. Did that mean that she was going to end up bitter and frightened and alone, never allowing any men into her life?

Then her mind wandered to Cormoran, his lips on her arms… She banished that thought from her mind. A relationship with Cormoran wasn’t worth the loss of the business. She had already decided that.

Hunter seemed perfect: beautiful, funny, kind. He was smart, too, and as an aspiring mortician he would certainly understand her career aspirations. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe he was too perfect. She had never been able to trust perfection.

Maybe Ned was right, maybe she was too picky. Maybe she needed to be less paranoid, and get back out there. But that didn’t mean that she was going to walk in with her eyes closed.

She closed Netflix on her laptop and opened up the site for the Board of Mortuary Certification. She called the number, and got an answering machine.

“Hello, my name is Venetia Hall, and I’m calling from the Holy Family Funeral Home. I’m calling about the certification of a gentleman named Hunter Chasman, who has applied for a job with us.”

  
***

Sam Barclay arrived at the Chochmat Halev Synagogue at a quarter past eight. He had been to a recovery group before, as moral support for his brother, who had been an alcoholic. It had been a difficult time, and this group was similar enough to make Sam jumpy and anxious. He desperately longed for a joint, but assumed that arriving stoned to an AA meeting would be frowned upon. Besides, he was on the job.

It was a smaller group than the one Sam had attended before, only about five people besides himself. Everybody was drinking too much coffee and doubling up on donuts. Cormoran had given Sam descriptions of Dale and Peter, and Sam recognized them almost immediately. Peter had a pale, drawn expression, and Dale refilled her coffee three times before the meeting even started. She was wearing a furry pink coat and sparkly purple leggings, and Sam liked her at once. He approached her at the coffee machine.

“Hello,” he said, “I’m Sam. Tonight is my first time.”

Dale looked him up and down, then smiled.

“I’m Dale. Don’t worry, they won’t make you talk. Although you’re totally welcome to share if you feel like it.”

“My friend Sian attended here,” Sam said, “Did you know her?”

Dale’s face flashed with an unreadable expression, then turned cool and guarded.

“I did. How did you know her?”

“The same way that any two addicts know each other. We used together. But that was ages ago. When she got sober we stopped hanging out.”

“I think that’s the hardest part of quitting the drugs,” Dale said, “All my friends are still on them, and they just don’t understand.”

“That’s why this community is so important, isn’t it?” Sam said.

Dale shrugged.

“I guess,” she said, “But now that Sian’s gone, I’m the youngest. Don’t really have any friends here.”

Then the leader called them all together, and Sam sat down between Dale and Peter. The leader’s name was Paul, and he led them all through a moment of silence and the Serenity Prayer.

“Welcome to our group,” Paul said, “This is a safe space and a judgement-free zone. Everything you say here is completely confidential." When he smiled he showed a wide strip of gum. "Now I see a new face here, so let’s all go around and give our introductions. I’m Paul.”

“Hi Paul,” the group said.

The group went around, sharing names. _Jennifer, Mark, Ralph, Dale, Peter_.

“I’m Sam,” Sam said.

“Hi Sam,” the group chanted.

“Now,” Paul said, “Instead of a presenter today, we’re going to do something a bit different. I think we’re all a wee bit shaken up about our friend Sian, so I’d like to open up the space so that we can all air out our feelings, okay?”

There was silence. Paul tried to make eye-contact, but everybody looked down at their hands.

“Anybody?” Paul asked. Dale’s leg was twitching.

“Well…” Peter finally said, “It’s been a bit difficult, yes. I’m realizing that I didn’t really know her. I don’t think any of us did.”

“She was very private, yes,” Paul said, “But she did value your friendship, Peter, we know that.”

Peter shrugged and hummed, and silence fell on the room again.

“Anybody else?” Paul asked.

“I guess I’m angry at her,” Dale piped up.

"Anger is a valid emotion," Paul said, "Let's dig into that feeling. Why are you angry?"

“I’m angry that she took the easy way out. It was a shitty and a selfish thing to do.”

“That’s bullshit,” Peter said, suddenly.

“Now Peter-” Paul started, but Peter interrupted.

“You think that was easy?” Peter said, his voice trembling.

“What?” Dale asked.

“That is not easy. How dare you call her selfish. She had nobody else in the world.”

“Alright,” Paul started, "Let's all settle down here."

“Where were you when she needed you?” Peter said, “Where were you when she was alone in that bathtub? You abandoned her! And you’re calling _her_ selfish?”

“ _I_ abandoned _her_ ?” Dale said with a bitter laugh, “ _She_ ended it with _me_ . _She_ broke _my_ heart! _She_ isolated herself from the world! That was her own choice!”

Sam took a mental note of this. Dale had implied to Cormoran that the split with Sian had been amicable, and not a big deal.

Sam cleared his throat and felt six set of eyes swivel around to look at him.

“Well,” he said, “I actually knew Sian. Ye could say that Sian is the reason I’m here right now.” He lowered his eyes dramatically. He was still a theater kid at heart. “Sian and I used to shoot up together. I didn’t think I had a problem. Not really. Not until she died. But then I realized that I might end up just like her… abandoned in a cold bathtub, forgotten and alone.” Sam glanced around to see if any of the other attendees were showing signs of guilt. Most of them had expressions of vague sympathy. Dale had silent tears streaming down her face, her blue eyeliner clumped and smudged. “I wasn’t there for Sian, but… maybe I can be there for meself.”

He wished Cormoran could see him. He wanted to take a bow.

  


_Dear Baby Bunny,_

_I was at a department store today, buying some instant curry and a can of beans when the song came on._

“That magic moment,

So different and so new,

Was like any other,

Until I kissed you...”

_Suddenly I was collapsed on the floor of the canned food aisle, weeping like a baby, unable to breathe. A nice old lady saw that I was in trouble and helped me outside, where she bought me a cup of tea and a biscuit._

_Once I composed myself I went back into the store and bought my things, then went home. But the song was still there in my head. I think it will always be there, in the background. That horrible song._

“Sweeter than wine,

Softer than a summer's night,

Everything I want I have

As long as you’re by my side…”

_It keeps me up at night. The high echoing voice, rolling around in my head. And with it comes Jacob’s smell, Jacob’s arms._

_In my last letter I wrote about running away from Abas, and going to the Blue Anchor Pub. In my mind Jacob lived in the Blue Anchor Pub. I couldn’t imagine him anywhere else. That was where he belonged. It never occurred to me that he wouldn’t be there in the morning, though of course that thought was irrational. The pub was two miles away from our barn, and by the time I arrived I was gasping for breath and sweating profusely. I took one look at the empty chair and sank down onto the ground._

_I waited three hours for him. I watched the workers haggle, I watched tourists walk through like little lost seagulls. I have always been good at waiting. I stood for three hours without eating or drinking, without leaving to pee. I did not move. I was a statue._

_Jacob likes girls who can wait. If you wait it means that you’re subservient, willing, open. I waited three hours, and when he finally arrived he walked right up to me like we’d been planning to meet. He lead me to a table and bought me an enormous lunch._

_He treated me like a real lady, like a grown up. He hung on my every word, and asked me questions about my life. He bought me sweet drinks in brilliant colors, that burned a bit as they went down. I’d never had a cocktail before, the only alcohol I drank was harsh bitter whiskey that Abas would sometimes give me to help me sleep. I didn’t know what to watch for. All I knew was that Jacob was spending money on me, money in quantities I had never seen before. Finally I asked him what he did for a living._

_“I’m a talent agent,” he said, “I go out and find dancers from around the solar system.” He looked me up and down. “Dancers like you.”_

_I laughed at this. I imagined Jacob running a ballet studio, teaching girls in tutus how to plie and pirouette._

_“I’m not a dancer,” I said._

_“Prove it. Dance with me.”_

_That’s when the band started playing that song._

“That magic moment,

When your lips were close to mine,

Will last forever,

Forever till the end of time…”

_I barely came up to his chest but we danced slow. Then he asked me to dance to another song, a fast one, and then another, and soon I was dizzy and falling over with laughter. He told me I was a natural. He told me he had never seen anybody dance like me before. He said I was the best he’d ever seen._

_“In the Aphrodite Bubble, they’ll just eat you up,” he said, “They love girls who look like you.”_

_The Aphrodite Bubble! I could finally make it to our destination. I could be close to my father, be home._

_“Will you come with me?” he asked._

_I started giggling and realized that I couldn’t stop._

_“Yes!” I said between peels of laughter, “Of course! Yes!”_

_I didn’t have to think. I was drunk and giddy with love. Jacob grew serious._

_“Don’t take this lightly,” he said, taking my hand, “If you come with me it would mean leaving your brother.”_

_I thought about Abas, and my smarting cheek. Abas would be better off without me, after all. I didn’t work, and all I was was another mouth to feed._

_“If I danced for you… I’d be paid?” I asked._

_“Fifty pounds every hour.”_

_“I could send my brother some of what I made?”_

_“If you wanted.”_

_I nodded. Abas would just get in the way, anyways._

_Then, just like in my dream, Jacob pulled me on the back of the motorcycle and we took off._

_Love, forever,_

_Mummy_

 

_Dear Bunny,_

_You’re a ghost, next to me, everywhere I go. I try to see things through your eyes, what you would like, what you wouldn’t. There’s flowers growing in the park, and I stop and look at them because I know you’d like them. I listen to birds, and look at the way light hits water, and I imagine that you’re there next to me, seeing it all for the first time. I want you to know this. I want you to know that I didn’t want to leave you. I love you with my whole heart, and I’m trying to find you. Once I have enough money I’m going to hire somebody to find you, and then we’ll be together again, and I’ll take you away from here. I hate it here._

_I haven’t always hated the Aphrodite Bubble. I loved my first three weeks here. I loved every minute of those three weeks. Massive buildings, cars going back and forth above us, beautiful people in beautiful clothes. Everything was made out of pyrite and bismuth, so it shone like pure gold everywhere you looked. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I wanted to slow everything down, just so I could take it all in. It was too much, too fast, too beautiful, and I wanted it all. And for that month, I had it all._

_Jacob took me out to nice restaurants, he took me shopping, I put on makeup and got my hair done. He bought me a private suite in the nicest hotel in town. The one room was the size of my whole house back home, and it was all just for me. It had a TV, and my own bathroom, and an enormous fluffy bed. I had never slept in a bed, and I didn’t care for it. I made me feel like I was back on the Serpent, floating around in zero gravity. I moved the blankets off the bed and slept on the thick carpet instead._

_Jacob introduced me to his friends that first month. There were too many to name, a tornado of handsome, charming men. Sam, Julian, Earl, Max, they ran together in my head. I liked them because they were friends with Jacob and I wanted to impress him. But there was an uncanny valley effect to them; they were too perfect, too precise, with no pores and no hair on their arms. When they were in a group they were loud, and told jokes that I didn’t understand._

_Jacob also introduced me to Elizabeth and Ruby. Elizabeth was Jacob’s mother. She was older, and stern. She was sixty going on thirty, with bleached blonde hair and perfect makeup at all times. She smiled and told me to call her Mummy Liz, but I could see a coldness around her eyes and didn’t call her anything. I wasn’t sure if I liked her or not. I told Jacob that she had cold eyes and he laughed and said it was her plastic surgery._

_Ruby was Jacob’s friend. I was jealous of Ruby, who was gorgeous, and Jacob’s same age. She had red hair and skin so white it was almost blue. She tried to be my friend, palling up with me, wanting to hear the gossip and take me out shopping. I didn’t trust her._

_Jacob also introduced me to Elizabeth’s brother, Uncle Mark. Mark owned a cleaning service, and was very wealthy. He was kind to me, and I liked him. He always gave me candy, which made me feel warm and loose and relaxed when I ate it._

_After a month, Jacob showed me the Haute and Taut Gentleman’s Club, where I would be dancing._

_I’m not sure if I can write any more for a while._

_Until then,_

_Mummy_


	24. Back to Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, it gets dark here. I kept it as vague and metaphorical as I could, but it still references child abuse and trafficking.

Robin went back to work on Monday, her neck still in a brace. She spent the day doing invoices for the Peroxide case and answering calls about future appointments. Cormoran spent the morning tailing another cheating spouse, but came back to the office around noon, laden with take-away.

“Anything new?” he asked.

“The daily slog.”

“There would never be any detective movies if they knew how boring it really was. Nobody ever talks about that stuff.”

“Can you imagine if they did? Film noir but with paperwork.”

“I’m thinking about getting Barclay to cover some of the tailing of kids,” Cormoran said, “We’re looking for a two-year-old with a birthmark on her back, but I can hardly just walk up and ask. Barclay has a baby of his own. I think he could approach them more easily.”

“Good call.” She leaned back. “Did you read Peter's translation last night?”

“Yeah," Cormoran said, pouring himself a cup of tea, "Weird as hell. She just runs off with some dude she doesn’t even know? Leaving behind her brother?”

“ _That’s_ the part you have trouble with? Not the space travel and robots?”

“Well, I write that off as sci-fi. But human actions, those are the same, past present or future. Who would just run away with someone like that?”

“You never had that obsessive love as a teenager? A complete mad passion for somebody you barely know?”

Cormoran thought about this.

“Maybe once. But I was fourteen, not twelve.”

“Girls get it earlier. I was eleven when I fell for Riley Ross. I couldn’t tell you the first thing about him, but I would have run off with him in an instant if he’d asked.”

“At _eleven?”_

“I’m not saying it would have been a good idea. I didn’t even know what sex was. It was purely emotional. I was obsessed for about two months, then I fell for some other kid.”

“I didn’t even start noticing girls until I was a teenager,” Cormoran said.

“It’s good boys mature slower than girls. Otherwise we’d all be mums at the age of twelve. That’s why little girls like Sian are so vulnerable."

Cormoran was about to answer when there was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Robin said.

Robin went to the door and opened it. There was Hunter Chasman, standing in the hall, wet and disheveled from the rain, a bouquet of damp roses in his hands. Robin couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d been the queen herself.

“Hunter? What-”

“I’m sorry, I should have called, but… Can we talk?”

Robin turned to Cormoran.

“One moment, please,” she told him.

Cormoran nodded mutely and Robin followed Hunter out into the hallway. Hunter stopped and turned to her.

“I heard that you were in an accident,” he said.

“I’m fine,” Robin said, wishing to God that she wasn’t still sporting a neck brace and two brilliant shiners.

“I was worried about you,” Hunter said, “And I… I miss you. And I want to apologize for anything I did wrong.”

Robin’s mouth hung open.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.

“It sure seemed like that the other night.”

Robin sighed.

“I have boundaries. There’s some things I just can’t do yet.”

“Like sex?”

“Well… Yes.”

“And these are things you _can’t_ do yet, or you _won’t_ do yet?”

“I… The latter, I guess.”

Hunter bent down to meet Robin’s eyes. She looked away again.

“Robin... No, look at me.” She reluctantly met his gaze. “I think you’re amazing, and beautiful, and fascinating. And if you want to wait to have sex, I will wait to have sex. A girl as gorgeous as you, I’m not going to lie, it’s going to to be hard. But that’s why God gave me my hand, huh?” He winked, and Robin tried for a smile. “Tomorrow night then?” he asked.

“Sure. Tomorrow night.”

“Right. Okay. Here?”

“Here. At six.”

He waited a moment, to see if she would say or do anything more.

“Right. Well. I should get back to work,” Robin said.

“Right. Big case.”

“Yeah.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Cormoran was watching her when she came in.

“So are you and Hunter…” he started.

“I don’t know. I guess we’re dating,” Robin said. Cormoran opened his mouth to speak and Robin held up her hand. “Before you say anything, I’m going in with my eyes wide open here,” she said, “I’ve done a full background check, and he came out clean. I’m remaining impartial and I’m not going to let him get too close.”

Cormoran raised his eyebrows at this outburst.

“That’s not what you were going to say, was it?” Robin said, drooping a bit in embarrassment. He smiled.

“No. But it’s good you’re being careful.” He cleared his throat. “I’m glad, you know… That you’re getting back out there. I think that’s great.”

“I’m taking it slow, being cautious. I don’t have a great track record with men.” She looked down at her hands. “Present company excluded, of course.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He stood. “Now if you’ll excuse me, nature calls.”

Robin stood to the side and let him pass. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was expecting from him. Did she think he would get protective? Judgemental? Why did she think he would care at all? And why did she care if he cared?

In the bathroom, Cormoran splashed his face with water, then pressed his face into the towel for a full minute, breathing in the soft dark.

 

_Dear Bunny,_

_You’re a baby now. Soon you’ll be a child, then a teenager, then an adult. You will learn things about the world. You’ll get hurt. It’s inevitable. I considered telling you my whole story, all the horrible little details of it, the play-by-play of hurt and lies and manipulation. I thought that maybe, when you’re an adult, you could read it and understand why I left you. But really, I’m an adult now and_ I _don’t understand a blessed thing. So I won’t go into too much detail about the Haute and Taut. I could tell you how they did it, how they trapped me so thoroughly, how they made me think it was my idea, and that I wanted it. I don’t want to tell you about that part, because right now you are so sweet and innocent, and I do not want to disturb our sweetness for one moment._

_I will tell you that Jacob moved slow, carefully binding me to him so expertly that by the time he introduced me to the other dancers at the Haute and Taut I was so tightly connected to him I didn’t know where I left off and he began. I didn’t know what was my will and what was his. I started thinking in his voice, and seeing myself through his eyes._

_I will tell you that we were dancers, but it certainly wasn’t ballet. The Haute and Taut was an exclusive club, for very wealthy men. Mostly we did burlesque and pole dancing._

_Sometimes men would like us and ask for a private room. I won’t tell you what happened in those private rooms, but someday you’ll be able to guess._

 

_Let’s say that one month is just a blank page in this book. Do not try to imagine that month. We do not think of it, we do not speak of it. It is a black square._

 

_I will begin again one month later._

_When I first arrived downstairs, a month later, I was lost in a fog of drugs and confusion. I had undergone my first plastic surgery, and was still groggy and sore. I wasn’t sure what had happened to me, I couldn’t tell what had been a dream and what had really happened. All I knew was that I hurt all over. I’m sure I looked like a feral animal, hunched up in the corner, baring my teeth at anybody who came close to me. I’ve seen that expression many times since, on the new girls._

_It was Ruby who approached me, slow and careful. I had already seen her, outside of the club, but I hadn’t spotted her since I’d come in. She was older than me, around thirty, with bright red hair in perfect little victory curls. She spoke with a thick accent that I had to strain to understand. She held her hand out to me like she was greeting a dog, like I would sniff it to tell if she was safe. Honestly, I was probably more dog than human at that point. I didn’t sniff her hand, but I remembered her from my life Before the Black Square, and I relaxed slightly. She smiled._

_“Do you remember me?” she asked. I nodded. “My name is Ruby,” she said, “I’ve been here for a long time. I’m going to be your dance instructor.” I didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure I knew how._

_“It’s okay,” she said, “You don’t have to talk to me.” She sat down cross-legged. “It takes some getting used to at first, I know. But you’ll start to enjoy it. You’ll see.” I would have laughed if I wasn’t so miserable. “We’re a good group of friends here. We’ve got a tight community. And look around! This is the place other people only dream about! Wait until you see the rooms. They’re huge. And the beds. God, you’ll sleep like a baby. Catered meals, and free drinks. Not to mention the gorgeous guys who wait on you hand and foot.”_

_I had already experienced some of these “gorgeous guys,” and I shrank back into my corner. Ruby put on a sympathetic pout._

_“You’ll get used to that part, love, I promise.”_

_I shook my head._

_“It’s a job,” she said, “Like hauling bricks, or baking bread. What’s the difference between that type of manual labour, and this type of manual labour? It’s the same body doing the work, either way.” When I remained unconvinced, she shrugged and held out her hand._

_“Here, I’ll give you a tour, if you feel up to it.”_

_After hesitating a moment, I took her hand and stood._

_“There’s five floors here at the Haute and Taut. Two basement levels, the ground floor, and two upper levels,” she said, “Right now we’re on the lowest basement level, floor B2. B2 is where you’ll live, and where you’ll spend most of your time. Most people don’t know that the basement levels exist, not even the members of the club.” She turned to me with an excited smile. “Isn’t that fun? It’s like a secret clubhouse.”_

_I started to take notice of my surroundings. I was in a large lounge, with white vanities with lighted mirrors. Several girls were lounging about on white leather poufs, chatting and applying makeup. None of them were paying any attention to me. At the end of the hallway was a large dining area, with a table set for fifteen._

_“We get two meals a day, both very nutritious and good for our figures. Normally it’s a smoothie, or a kale salad, or some combination of the two.” I had no idea what these words meant, but the thought of food cheered me somewhat._

_“The shower room and toilets are to the left over there. We shower every day before performances. And here is the dance room, where we practice dance for two hours daily. You’ll pick up the moves fast. Jacob tells me that you’re a born natural.”_

_The dance room was spacious wood with mirrored walls and a bar around it._

_“The floor above us, B1, is where you’ll meet with your private clients.” I flinched back. She ignored this. “It’s also filled with suites, much larger than ours down here. Very fancy. Honestly, it’s like living in the Palace._

_“Above B1 is the ground level, where clients go through security. Each client has a card, like a credit card but made out of heavy black metal. Then they’re asked the password, then another password, then they go through a metal detector and are allowed upstairs or downstairs, depending on their clearance level. They always have to be on the guest list, and they always get vetted. That’s good for us. We only take the best of the best. No creeps here._

_“Above the ground level is the club itself. Expensive leather, chandeliers, food, a bar. There’s platforms around the club where some girls dance. Others walk around, serving drinks, flirting, you know the drill. Then twice a night there’s a special solo performance, where you get to do a traditional dance from your home country.” I had never done a traditional dance from my home country. We did the same hip-hop moves as the rest of the solar system. As if she could read my mind, she added, “Don’t worry about that. I choreograph all the dances. You’ll do great.” She lead me down a long corridor with rows of doors on either side. “The second floor is unimportant, we never go there. Just kitchens and storage space.” She opened one of the identical doors that lined the hall._

_“These are the suites. You sleep two to a suite, but don’t worry, if you don’t like your roommate we switch rooms and roommates once a month.”_

_It was a simple, elegant room, with two enormous fluffy beds, two dressers with mirrors, and two closets. Even in my hazy state, I noticed a security camera blinking away in the corner of the ceiling._

_“You’ll be sharing with Callisto this month. She’ll be good for you. She’s been here two years already, so she can show you the ropes more.”_

_I longed to climb into the fluffy white bed and go to sleep, but Ruby wasn’t done with her tour. She opened one of the closets. Inside was white satin romper like the one I was wearing, a lacy dressing gown, and some sort of bizarre mini-dress with a black veil attached. I guessed it was supposed to be some parody of our traditional dress back on Earth, but it made no sense to me. Very few people on Earth actually wore the veil, and those who did also covered the rest of their bodies. The dress in the closet barely covered the nipples and the crack._

_“You’ll wear that while performing,” Ruby explained, “This isn’t like most gentlemen’s clubs. Most other places take pride in pale girls with bleached blonde hair, maybe with the occasional Jupiterian. Not here. Here the men pay high price for exotic. They like you to wear your traditional outfits.” She checked her watch. “You get today off, because it’s your first day. Tomorrow you’ll get up with the rest of the girls, at eight. Breakfast is served at eight thirty sharp. Then at nine we go in for dance practice, which takes up most of the day. We take a bathroom break at twelve. Four o’clock is dinner and vitamins. Five is prep time, where you shower, dress, and put on your face. At six sharp the performance starts, and goes until three. At three we close down and you can go to bed, if you’d like. Most stay up.” She smiled at me. “It’s seven in the evening now. You rest up. Callisto will be back soon.” She let out a girlish giggle and clasped her hands together. “Oh we’ll have such fun together! Ooh I’m so excited! Sleep well, because tomorrow we’re gonna par-tay!”_

_Then she blew me a kiss and was gone._

_I wish I could tell you that I immediately set to plotting my escape. But I hurt in places I had never even known existed, I felt raw and hollowed out. I had experienced trauma so deep that the only possible way for me to survive was to draw the curtain of sleep over me and sink into unconsciousness._

_Love love love love love,_

_Mummy_


	25. Bubbles

Sam Barclay watched his son Brody arguing with another child over a toy truck, and decided not to intervene. The kids would figure it out on their own eventually. It was an important learning experience. Sam’s wife called him a “free range parent,” usually meaning it as a compliment, occasionally in anger. His own parents had been classic 1980’s: stand-offish in their parenting tactics, calling him in for dinner but otherwise orbiting in distant aloofness. His wife, however, had been the only child of an older couple, a surprise “miracle baby” after years of infertility, so her parents had doted on her to an absurdly over-involved degree. She had chafed under their vigilance, but now it seemed that she was destined to follow in their footsteps. She seemed to be constantly worried over the baby. Sam watched Brody squabbling over the truck and realized that he couldn’t call his son “the baby” anymore. Brody was two and a half, now, and big for his age.

Sam shook his head. He wasn’t here to contemplate his son’s future. He was here on a case. Cormoran had assigned him here for a reason, and, for all intents and purposes, Brody was just a prop. He was here because it was the place where the children of the Saint Anthony’s Childrens’ Home came to play every day. And one of those children, Caroline, was possibly Sian Carw’s lost baby.

He had already spotted the target. She was small, only two years old, with auburn hair and a sweet pear-shaped face. The Saint Anthony’s children had three minders with them, two older women, who sat gossiping on a park bench, and one younger woman who sat off to the side with Caroline and blew bubbles for the girl to pop. Sian Carw’s baby had a red birthmark on her lower back, but Sam could hardly walk up and check. He called Brody over.

“Hey, Brody” he said, “Look at those bubbles over there.” Brody glanced at where the minder was blowing bubbles, then turned back to his truck.

“Don’t ye want to play with the bubbles?” Sam asked hopefully.

Brody shook his head.

“No? Why not?”

“I play with truck,” Brody said. Brody had somehow picked up the habit of whispering instead of speaking, and his voice was a strange half-rasp. Sam hoped that the boy would grow out of it.

“Aye, but maybe you can do both, right? You could take the truck over to the bubbles.” He gave Brody a pleading look and lowered his voice. “I have to go look at the bubbles, lad. It’s for me work.” He was glad that Brody was still too young to find this unusual. Instead Brody just shrugged and consented, walking over to where Caroline and her minder were sitting, his truck clasped tightly in his chubby hands.

That’s when Barclay got his second stroke of luck.

“Hallo,” the minder said in a thick Glaswegian accent, “d’you like the bubbles too, then?”

Brody shrugged.

“Bubbles is me daddy’s work,” he rasped.

Sam laughed in what he hoped was a convincing way.

“Kids,” he said, “they say the darndest things.”

“He’s your son, then,” she said, pleased.

“Ay. This is Brody.” He gestured to Caroline. “This your daughter?”

“Ah, no. I’m just her minder.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Sarah.”

“Sam.”

She blew another stream of bubbles and Caroline clapped her hands in delight. Even Brody seemed interested in spite of himself.

“Ye’re from Glasgow, then?” Sarah said. Sam smiled.

“Born and bred. You too?”

“Close. Kilsyth.”

“Ahhh, a small town girl. What brings ye to London?”

“This internship,” Sarah said, “I work for Saint Anthony’s Children’s home, placing the bairns what don’t have nobody to look after’em.”

“God’s work.”

“Indeed.”

“Can’t be an easy job, seein all that sadness.”

“No, but it’s very rewarding. And I get to live in London for free.”

“Maybe I should get an internship,” Sam said with a grin.

“Takes more than free rent to feed a bairn his size,” Sarah said, gesturing to Brody, “What is it you do?”

“I’m a dermatologist,” Sam improvised.

“What, like examining spots and boils?” Sarah said. She looked horrified.

“I specialize in birthmarks. Some kids are born with great disfigurements, big hairy patches on their faces and hands, or raised bumpy bits. I help take care of that.”

“I used to have a birthmark on my arm, but it’s since gone away,” Sarah said, “Isn’t that funny?”

“Aye, they do that sometimes. Brody was born with one on his arse that’s gone now.”

Sarah laughed at this.

“Ye’re sure that was a birthmark and not just a missed spot at nappy time?” she asked.

“Ah, you wound me. I never miss a spot.” He gestured to Caroline. “This one got any marks?”

“Aye, she does, it’s lovely,” Sarah said. Sam felt his pulse quicken. “See on her hand? It’s shaped like a peerie little heart.”

“Oh, that’s sweet,” he said, trying to mask disappointment, “She’s like a little valentine, eh?”

“Aye, she’s perfect. Not another blemish on her. Just that one little heart.”

“Just the one? No others?”

He knew he was pushing it, and Sarah looked a bit confused.

“Yes. Is that unusual?”

“Ah. Yes. Well. A bit. Many children are born with birthmarks on their backs.” He scratched his ear and hoped that Sarah was gullible as hell.

“That’s strange,” Sarah said, “I’ve never heard that. Why on their backs?”

“Erm. Science. It’s, ah, formed in utero, and then…”

One of the older minders behind them stood and blew a whistle.

“St. Anthony’s!” She bellowed, “Playtime is over!”

Sam breathed an internal sigh of relief. He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to keep up the act.

“Right,” Sarah said, “Well. Nice meeting you.”

 

_Dear bunny,_

_I slept in the big white bed. When I woke up again my head was pounding and there was a loud ringing in my ears. There was a girl sitting at the vanity across from me, brushing out a cloud of long black hair._

_“Good morning,” the girl said without turning around, “My name is Callisto.” I groaned and clutched at my head._

_“The headaches pass,” she said, “They’ll give you vitamins at breakfast. Those help.” I sincerely doubted that anything would ever help again._

_“You know how to put on cosmetics?” she asked._

_I shook my head._

_“Come here, I’ll show you.” She pulled over a chair. I carefully stood and limped over to her, moving gingerly around my recent operations. “Sit.” I sat._

_She turned and looked at me with a hard eye. There was no false sweetness with her, that’s for sure._

_“You miss your mummy and daddy?” she asked. I shook my head._

_“Don’t have any,” I said. My voice came out hoarse from lack of use._

_“You got people on the outside?”_

_I thought about Abas, and what he would think if he saw me now, now that I’d been used up like an old rag._

_“Not anymore,” I said._

_“Good.” I waited for her to explain, but she didn’t. “You like Ruby?” she asked._

_I shrugged, not knowing the right answer. Ruby seemed friendly enough, but I saw her as connected to Jacob and the events of the past week. The girl seemed satisfied with this answer._

_“What about Jacob? Elizabeth? You like them?” she asked._

_I hesitated, then shook my head. Callisto looked up at the camera blinking away in the corner._

_“The cameras shoot video, but not sound,” she said, turning back to her mirror, “The first thing you have to learn is to always talk facing away, so they can’t read your lips.” She took out a jar of foundation and began carefully painting my face. At first I flinched at every touch, but she was gentle in spite of the hardness in her voice._

_“Elizabeth is the boss,” Callisto said, “You’ve met her. She owns you from hair to toenail. We only see her once a day, and she never speaks to us. She comes in every evening to check on us and check on the building maintenance. She writes down things that need to be changed or added. She buys our pills, food, bedding, and clothing. She weighs us and inspects our bodies and teeth. If anything is in need of improvement, she assigns us to the dentist or the doctors.”_

_I had never been to a dentist before, and didn’t know what it was, but I kept quiet. Callisto painted a pale stripe down my nose, and darker shades along my cheekbones. I was amazed at how different I looked immediately._

_“Jacob is our doctor for minor things: he gives us our Botox and our pills. He knows how to stitch up open wounds, and he checks us for any STDs. For plastic surgery we’re put under and taken to the hospital, where a client fixes us up.” She gestured to my newly augmented breasts, still bound and bleeding. “Clearly you’ve already made his acquaintance. That’s one thing that does get a bit better over time. The first time is when they do the big stuff, the tits and ass.” She looked me over. “How old are you?”_

_“Almost twelve."_

_“They don’t usually do any major facial surgeries until you’re fifteen and you’ve stopped growing. Unless you’re like me. I had a monster nose when I first arrived, and they took care of that right away. But you’ve got a real cute face. They won’t have to do much there._

_“_ _Jacob is our doctor, but he’s also in charge of us. If a girl goes missing, it’s his job to bring them back, or he has to cover the rest of our debt out of his own pocket. I don’t know how much money it is, but it’s considerable. I’ve never known anyone to leave before eighteen.”_

_“Debt?”_

_“Sure. Getting you into the Aphrodite Bubble wasn’t free. Then there’s the cost of food, water, housing, clothes. Elizabeth’s salary, and the security guards. Paying the doctors. It adds up.”_

_The weight of this didn’t fully hit me at the time. Maybe it was Callisto’s nonchalant attitude, but in the moment it seemed obvious that I could pay my way out of it._

_"Our dentist is Dan Jubelin," Callisto said, "He’s a client, and a real prick, but going to the dentist means getting out of this hellhole for an hour or two. Plus he keeps us from getting toothaches and cavities and such. So he’s alright.” She brushed a light powder over my face to get it to set, then started on my eyes._

_“You know Ruby. She’s our dance instructor. She was one of us, once, ages ago. Usually when dancers get too old for entertaining they’re taken on by Elizabeth’s brother Mark, to become cleaners. But Ruby’s an excellent dancer and a fan favorite, so instead of being a cleaner she stayed with us and became our instructor. She wants you to think that she’s one of us. She’s not.” Callisto sniffed. “Look up for me? Thanks.” She darkened the waterline of my eyes, which made me blink and pull back. “Where are you from?”_

_“Earth,” I said._

_“What guy brought you here?”_

_“Jacob.”_

_Callisto raised an eyebrow._

_“But Jacob isn’t a smuggler. He’s a doctor. He doesn’t travel the solar system.”_

_“I met him here, at the Guinevere Bubble. I came to the Morning Star with my brother. We took the serpent.”_

_Callisto looked impressed._

_“Most of the girls were smuggled here from their home planets. Look up again.” I looked up again, and she painted on mascara. “There’s eight security bots who watch us. Sam, Julian, Earl, Max, Mesfin, Rafael, Yuri, and Daniel. I’m assuming you’ve already met them, at least in passing.”_

_I nodded._

_“They seem real, right? Don’t be fooled. They're just steel and latex._ _They make sure that we follow the rules and get things done. They escort us to and from the upstairs rooms, and make sure that everybody who comes in or out is authorized. They also keep the riffraff out. Pucker your lips for me? Thanks. Not that the riffraff could be much worse than our regular clientele, but at least the rich guys are checked for diseases before coming in.” She fingered my hair, still limp from the shower._

_“Let’s see your dance costume, then,” she said._

_I went to the closet and took out the tiny black dress with the veil. Callisto gave a little noise of disgust in the back of her throat._

_“At least mine is_ accurate _in its indecency,” she said, “On mercury we’re used to showing skin. This is just blasphemous.”_

_Until later,_

_Mummy_

 

_Dear bunny,_

_Over the next month I learned a lot of things. How to put on my own makeup, how to dance, how to pleasure a man. I learned the clients by name, and I learned their individual desires. I learned to survive. I learned how to make it through the days. I learned to never trust Ruby, no matter how convincing she was. I learned to use the bathroom in special plastic bowls, which were then weighed. If your output was less than your input, you would be given laxatives the next day. I learned to dance, and I learned to enjoy dancing. That is still true today, I love dancing. We were good at what we did. There was a beauty to it, even I’ll admit to that. We were erotic dancers, yes, but we were high-class. When we danced, we always left them wanting more. And then, if they could afford it, and had the security clearance, we gave them more._

 

_When we were children there was a poem we would read to scare each other, or use as a joke. I’ve heard the children here reading it as well, around the Festival of the Dead. I’m sure you’ve heard it too._

In a dark dark forest is a dark dark house

And in the dark dark house is a dark dark room

And in the dark dark room is a dark dark closet

And in the dark dark closet is a dark dark box

And in the dark dark box is a…

_And then the children make up something scary, like a ghost, or something silly, like a toenail._

_In my soul I built a forest, and in that forest I built a house, and in that house I built a room, and in that room I built a closet, and in that closet I built a box. And every night, when I would take a client into the private room, I would take what happened in the private room and put it in that box in that closet in that room in that house in the dark dark wood in my soul, and I would lock everything up so carefully that it would never get out. And I survived._

_But I never got used to it. And it never got easier. I spent seven years at the Haute and Taut. I got used to the late hours, the constant hunger, and the never going outside. I got used to the vitamins they gave me, the ones that kept me up for three nights in a row. But no, I never got used to it._

_Hugs and kisses and snuggles forever,_

_Mummy_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Sam a lot.


	26. The Hottentot Venus

Cormoran came into the office early on Monday morning, and was surprised to find Robin already there. 

“You’re here early,” he said. Robin smiled. She looked a wreck. While the burns on her face and hands had faded, she still had her neck in a brace and her eyes were fading from purple to green. 

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“How’s the neck?”

“Shitty.”

“Any breakthroughs?”

Robin sighed and pushed her chair back. 

“No,” she said, “I don’t know what I’m looking at. Is it fiction? Is it her diary?”

“It would be her diary if we were all living on the planet Venus,” Cormoran said.

“Venus?”

“The Morning Star. The Aphrodite Bubble. Aphrodite, Venus. It was a hunch, so I googled it. The planet Venus has high temperatures, intense pressure, and pyrite snow. She mentions all of those things in the story.”

“So why Venus? What does it represent? Love? Fertility?”

“If there’s any significance to it at all. It could just be a teenager’s shitty attempt at sci-fi.”

Robin shot him a calculating look.

“Is that what you think?” she asked. 

Cormoran rubbed his face.

“No,” he admitted. 

Robin sat up and scanned the chapter again. 

“The place she works is called The Haute and Taut,” she said, “Weird name. Sounds like Hottentot.”

“I noticed that. Not exactly a classy name for a high-end dance club, but then I’m no literary critic.”

“You pointed out that it was probably on Venus.” Robin chewed on her pen, putting the pieces together in her head. “Have you ever heard of the Hottentot Venus?”

“No, should I?”

“She was an African slave woman who had enormous genitals, and was displayed as a freak show across France in the early 1800s.”

Cormoran stared at her.

“How the hell do you know these things?”

“You’re not the only one with random pockets of trivial knowledge,” Robin said, “I read about her in University, in a Psychology of Racism class. She’s a common symbol of the destructive exotification of black women.”

“Do you think that it could have any significance?” Cormoran asked.

“I’m not sure. Why else would she have the story set on Venus? And why call it the Haute and Taut? That’s such a stupid name.”

“Maybe she feels like the Hottentot Venus on a more metaphorical level, rather than literal. Put on display, exotified, sexualized.”

“Maybe she was actually trafficked.” 

She typed the name  _ Hottentot Venus _ into the search bar. 

“Here we go, The Hottentot Venus.” She cleared her throat, then read, “‘ _ Sara Baartman; 1770s – 29 December 1815), was the most well known of at least two South African  _ _ Khoikhoi  _ _ women who, due to their large buttocks _ _ , were exhibited as freak show _ _  attractions in 19th-century Europe under the name Hottentot Venus.’ _ God, how sad.”

“Baartman.” Cormoran narrowed his eyes. “ _ Baartman _ . Where have I heard that name before?”

Robin looked at her watch.

“Anyways,” she said, “I’m meeting detective Layborn in about half an hour. What are your plans for the day?”

“Breaking the news to Peroxide’s husband.”

“Don’t envy you there.”

“Rather do that than talk to Layborn. Don’t you think he’d be more open to speaking with a man?”

“He is a sexist old bugger, but I think I can use that. I make him uncomfortable, and he doesn’t see me as a threat. He might be more willing to talk if he doesn’t think it will make any difference.”

“Mm. Speaking of sexist old buggers, Lucy was wondering if you’d like to go over to her place tomorrow night. It’s her birthday.”

“Oh, of course! That sounds lovely!”

  
  


Robin met Detective Layborn at a cafe. She took her neck brace off for the occasion and tried to put thick concealer on over her bruises, but she didn’t think she would be fooling anybody. 

Layborn was already at the cafe when she arrived. He greeted her with a little bow and pulled out her chair in a show of chivalry. After several minutes of small talk and a scone for each of them, Layborn finally broached the subject.

“You said you have questions about the Sian Carw case,” he said.

“I do.”

“Well, you shouldn’t. It was as open and shut as they come. Her flat was locked from the inside, her prints were on the suicide note, the autopsy revealed that the angle of the needle was correct for suicide. There is absolutely no evidence that she was murdered.”

“If I was to bring forward new evidence, in the form of a novel that she was writing…”

“A novel. Fictional?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“That’s not evidence, that’s a creative writing project.”

“Did you ever think it was strange that she printed the suicide note, but owned neither a computer or a printer?” Robin asked.

“So she wrote it somewhere else and printed it out. So what?”

“That doesn’t seem out of character?”

“No.”

“Was there any evidence of drug use around the room? Other needles, traces of heroin? Alcohol bottles in the trash?”

Layborn leaned forward.

“Listen, Miss Ellacott,” he said, “I know you’ve done good work. I know you’ve even helped us a couple of times. But you’re not a cop. You have the privilege of focusing on one case at a time, you can give it all of your attention. We can’t do that. We have a lot of work here. You have no idea how much we do. No  _ idea _ . You know Uncle Mike’s Pizza? Some guy got stabbed there last night. In the eye. He was running around with a knife just sticking out of his eyeball.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly. I don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with shit like that. We’re understaffed and overworked. So we have to prioritize.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Listen, I’m going to tell it to you straight, okay?”

“That would be much appreciated.”

“Sian Carw may have a Welsh name, but she isn’t from here.”

“You mean because she was born in Afghanistan?”

“She’s illegal.” Layborn paused to see if Robin would say anything, then continued. “I know it sounds harsh, but we just don’t have the resources to save everybody. We can’t do everything. We’re not superman. We do what we can to take care of our own.”

“So her death doesn’t matter?”

“You act like we ignored her completely. We investigated. She had a suicide note, the needle was in her arm, there was no sign of a struggle.”

“But you won’t reopen, even when I’ve found new evidence.”

“I’m sorry, Robin. I don’t make the rules.”

Robin balled up her napkin with a tight smile. She could feel herself trembling.

“Well. I should get going,” she said.

“Right.” Layborn stood. “We’re good, right?” he asked, “You’re not mad at me for some reason?”

“No,” Robin said, “No, we’re good.”

“Good. I’ve always liked you, Miss Ellacott.”

“I’m touched. Really. Thank you so much for meeting with me.”

“I enjoyed it. We’ll have to do it again some time.”

Robin smiled, nodded, and paid their bill. She took a cab home, and went calmly to her flat. She went into her room, locking the door behind her. Then she pounded her pillow with her fists and yelled every swear word she could think of.

 

_ Dearest bunny, _

_ A few months into my stay at the Haute and Taut I came downstairs to see a girl around my age, curled up in a ball in the corner. I could have been looking at a photograph of me when I first arrived. It seemed like Ruby hadn’t spoken to her yet. I turned to Callisto. _

_ “Have you heard about the new girl?” I asked. _

_ “She’s from the Red Planet originally but was recruited by a smuggler on earth,” Callisto said, “Her name is Adara, I think.” _

_ I walked over to the new girl and knelt down. She looked up at me and I could see myself reflected in her wide, frightened eyes. By that point I looked just like the rest of them, in my white satin romper and my lacy dressing gown, my face made up, my hair blown out. You could see my collar bones jutting out like clothes hangers under my skin, and my eyes were glazed and red from the vitamins they gave us. I was one of them. They had broken me in.  _

_ I knelt down to her.  _

_ “Hello,” I said, “What’s your name?” _

_ She had just come out of surgery, and still had the antiseptic stink of the plastic surgeon's office, but there was still a realness to her, an aura of the Outside. She blinked up at me. Her mouth was moving, and she was whispering words, but it wasn’t her name. I leaned in. _

_ “ _ There on the willows we hung our harps, _ ” she rasped, “ _ For there our captors asked us for songs, and our tormentors demanded songs of joy. They said, ‘Sing us one of the songs of your god!’” _ Her eyes were red with unshed tears. “ _ But how can we sing the songs of the Creator while in a foreign land?”

 

_ Adara became my closest friend throughout my next five years at the Haute and Taut. Though initially from the Red Planet, she had spent several months on Earth on her way to the Aphrodite Bubble, and picked up a little bit of my language. I knew a bit of Martian, and we taught each other more words, and we combined the languages we knew into our own half-secret code. I hope that you get to meet her someday. She was my sister for many years, and the closest thing to an auntie that you have. _

_ How can I describe her to you? She’s small, about my same size, with straight brown hair that’s cut in bangs across her eyebrows. Her face is flat and her nose is wide, and she has impossibly dark eyes. She’s all goodness and light, which drives me crazy. At first she seems passive in all ways, but when you get to know her you learn that she maintains a fierce faith in her religion, in spite of everything. It’s her foundation. She has her entire holy book memorized. She would tell me stories from it some nights. My mum hadn’t raised Abas and I with any religion, although Abas worked for the cults, and we got bits and pieces from various missionaries. But the stories Lupe would tell were so different from the happy stories the missionary kids would tell us. Adara would talk about evil men being struck by fire, and their bones scattering in the wind. She was powerful in her innocence, and I loved her like we were one body. _

_ Many girls came and went throughout my years there. After turning twenty or so, most girls were sent over to Elizabeth’s brother’s place, to work as domestics. Two died; one suicide, one accidentally killed by a client. Nobody ever left voluntarily. Looking back, we probably could have overpowered them, if we had wanted. There were fifteen of us girls, and at most only eight people watching at all times, if you count the security bots. But their control over us was enormous.  _

_ The drugs were their first reign of control. When we were dependent on the drugs, we were dependent on them. We couldn’t stop the drugs without dying, so we couldn’t leave them without dying.  _

_ Then there was the practicality of the situation. Guns were normally not allowed in the Aphrodite Bubble (imagine what a bullet could do to an artificial atmosphere) but the security bots had some. We had friends on the police force, who allowed it. _

_ The thing that held us back the most, though, was the psychological manipulation. Where would we go? What would we do? Elizabeth occasionally sent us on rare trips outside to massage parlors and dirty slums, where the girls saw ten to fifteen clients every day, and most of the girls didn’t live past thirty what with disease and overdoses. They had stringy hair and bad teeth and were often scarred and bruised. We would come back from those little field trips, back to our nice rooms with feather beds and regular meals, and we would be grateful. Even when we knew we were being manipulated, even when we tried our hardest to be angry at Elizabeth and our captors, even then we were still grateful. So we danced, and we took our drugs, and we met with our clients, and we didn’t complain. _

 

_ Girls came and went. As soon as they started to show their age, the girls were sent to Elizabeth’s brother, where they worked as domestic cleaners. Some were happy to leave the Haute and Taut, and went out singing. Some were terrified of leaving our comfortable situation, and left crying. Nobody stayed past 25.  _

_ Callisto was the oldest, and had been there the longest. She was eighteen when I first arrived, already on the older end of the spectrum, and she was still there when I left, years later. She watched over us like a good mama bear. She had told Jacob and Elizabeth that she didn’t know her real age, so they kept her with the young ones for as long as she still looked it. Callisto didn’t want to become a Domestic. She said that she’d rather stay down below, where she could at least get a good night’s sleep. The truth was she’d had a baby, before I got there, and I think she didn’t want to leave in case somehow the kid came back. The kid was a boy, though, which means that he wouldn’t come back, at least not until he was a grown man coming for a bit of fun.  _

_ She watched over us like any good mother, though, keeping us safe as best she could and resolving our petty disputes. She was insistent that we see touch as more than just a violent thing, and she would make us hold hands and hug each other, just so that we would remember how. _

_ Callisto liked Hakucho the best, and the two were rarely separate. Out here, Hakucho would probably be diagnosed with Arrested Development. She was very childlike, and the dentist was always having the lecture her about sucking her thumb. She was thin and pale and graceful. She had a long white neck that looked so fragile you wondered how it held her head up. When Callisto wasn’t there, Hakucho would latch onto another of the older girls.Hakucho would sneak into Callisto’s room at night to sleep. While that was usually discouraged, I think the recruiters knew that Hakucho wasn’t a threat.  _

_ I miss them, but I miss you the most, _

_ Mummy _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always had an intense interest in Sarah Baartman, and wrote a term paper on her in college. It's a fascinating story, although very sad, and it's a perfect example of how women's bodies have been used against them throughout history.


	27. Lucy's Birthday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE! Not actually. Only a minor one. I thought Robin's birthday was in September, but it's actually in October. So now we have to scoot everything forward a month. Sorry y'all. So basically the story started on October 11, and right now we're at November 15.

Robin brought Lucy a very nice bottle of wine, and Cormoran brought her a cashmere scarf, embroidered with flowers. 

“I had no idea your birthday was so close to Cormoran’s,” Robin said. 

“Oh yes, almost exactly two years apart. Nine months from Valentine’s Day, if you know what I mean.” Lucy gave a broad wink that made Cormoran clear his throat and look pointedly at the ceiling.

Lucy had invited several other friends over, and they ate dry chicken around the dining table. The guests were named Barb, Trevor, Jan, and Todd, each one more drab and suburban than the next, and Cormoran felt distinctly grateful that Robin was there with him. Robin was brilliant. She navigated the discussion of Todd’s colonoscopy with great grace, managed to steer the conversation away from politics (in spite of Barb’s insistent attempts to reminisce about the good old days of the Thatcher era), and was able to make even the discussion on the weather seem funny and interesting. Cormoran, however, seemed to make Lucy more nervous than anything, like she thought he might reveal Lucy’s backstory to her comfortable beige friends. He wondered why she’d invited him at all. 

After Greg’s third mention of pension and benefits, Cormoran finally excused himself and went in search of the children. He had started actually looking forward to time with Jack, and he was even learning to enjoy the company of Teddy and Junior as well, in short bursts. 

He tapped on the door to Jack’s room, and Jack called for him to come in. The room was decorated according to Jack’s exact taste: camo sheets, a magnetic dartboard on the wall, racks of Nerf guns and posters of fighter planes. Junior and Jack were at the small table, building with LEGO. Jack was carefully following the instructions on the box to make a Star Wars Tie Fighter. Junior was just sticking pieces together at random. 

“Mind if I join?” Cormoran asked. Jack beamed, and Cormoran sat down next to them. “What are you boys making?” He asked. 

“I’m making a Tie Fighter,” Jack said. 

“Very nice. Impressive. And you Junior? What are you making?”

“I’m making you a new leg,” Junior said.

“Ah. Very kind of you. A LEGO leg.” He started sifting through the LEGO pieces. He decided he was going to build a rocket ship. “And where’s Teddy tonight?”

Junior started giggling and Jack rolled his eyes. 

“He’s out with his  _ girlfriend _ ,” Jack spat. 

“Oh really! Who’s she?”

“Her name is Brianna. Her mum is taking them out to a movie.” Jack said each word like it was some disgusting curse. 

“Well that’s nice.”

“It’s  _ stupid. _ And it’s not just him.  _ All _ the boys at school are fancying girls. It’s  _ stupid _ .”

“And you?” Cormoran asked, “Do you fancy girls?”

Jack shrugged and turned scarlet.

“No. Gross. I don’t know. Shut up.”

“It’s okay if you don’t yet. You’re eleven. You don’t have to fancy anybody.”

“I just wish it wasn’t all anybody talked about. I wish we could go back to how it was, when my friends and I would play army at lunch. Now they just want to sit around and talk about who’s dating who. It’s  _ bullshit _ !”

Cormoran choked and gestured pointedly at Junior, who was deeply engrossed in his LEGO prosthetic and didn’t make any indication that he was listening. 

Jack grinned shyly. 

“Sorry,” he said, “It’s BS.”

Cormoran grinned. 

“There ya go.” 

“Dad just keeps on being like  _ ‘oh someday you’ll feel different and you won’t get enough of girls _ .’” Jack’s impression of his father was so spot on that Cormoran burst out laughing. 

“Sorry,” Cormoran said, “I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at your impression of your dad. It’s incredible.”

Jack grinned, then turned serious again. 

“I hate it when Dad talks about  _ someday _ ,” Jack said, “Like my feelings right now don’t matter.”

Cormoran shot Jack a side-eye. 

“You’re very wise, you know that?” he said.

“What? No…”

They worked at their LEGO projects in silence for a moment. Then Jack shifted in his seat. 

“Do you fancy anyone?” Jack asked in a light, uncomfortable voice. Cormoran was touched. 

“Well. Yes.”

“Is it aunt Charlotte?” Junior piped up. 

“Ah come on,” Cormoran said, “When was the last time you saw aunt Charlotte?”

Junior smiled.

“When she called us little shits.”

Cormorans stomach dropped. 

“You heard that?”

“I heard mum ranting about it that night.”

“Jesus I’m sorry. You’re not… that word.”

Junior stared at Cormoran’s prosthesis through narrowed eyes. 

“Can I see your leg?” he asked. 

Cormoran pulled up his left trouser leg, revealing his hairy calf. 

“What, this one?”

Junior laughed. 

“No! The other one!”

“I’ve only got the one, you know,” Cormoran teased. 

“The other one! The fake one!”

“Arrr, me old peg leg?” Cormoran growled. He rolled up his other trouser leg to the knee. The boys leaned in, entranced. 

“What’s it made of?” Jack asked. 

“Plastic mostly. And this metal bar.”

“Is it magnetic?” Junior asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Cormoran said, “I’ve never tested it.”

Jack picked up a magnetic dart and hurled it with impressive precision. It landed with a thwack on the metal bar of Cormoran’s prosthetic, and stuck firm. 

 

Robin was coming out of the bathroom when she heard uproarious laughter. She followed the sound to Jack’s bedroom, where she found Cormoran lying on the bed, prosthetic waving in the air, while his nephews pelted him with magnetic darts. 

Robin leaned on the doorway and watched them. 

Once, as a child, Robin’s family had saved up their money and taken their winter holiday in Switzerland. Her father had taken her out to a hot spring, and they had sat there in their bathing suits while snow fell all around. In the water, Robin was almost unbearably hot, but as soon as she stepped out, the water would immediately freeze on her hair and she would leap back into the hot water, shivering. Watching Cormoran and his nephews, she felt the way she had that day: all around her, the world was hard and cold, with drugs and trafficking and death. In Lucy’s house, with Cormoran and the boys, Robin felt almost uncomfortably happy. The contrast was so dramatic, Robin nearly felt like crying.

Cormoran turned and saw her watching. Their eyes met. He smiled.

 

_ Dear Bunny, _

_ I no longer go to bed at three in the morning, although I don’t sleep much more than five hours a night, what with nightmares and all.  _

_ At three every morning we were sent to our rooms to sleep, but usually the vitamins kept us awake. We slept in suites down in the basement, two to a room, and they were always moving us around. One week I’d be in a room with Aquila, the next with Cassie. They didn’t want us getting too close to each other, although of course we got close. In the dark we could talk without them knowing. We would talk, and tell stories, and teach each other words in our native languages.  _

_ I loved sharing a room with Adara. Like I said before, we were like one person, one mind. Sometimes when things felt especially bleak we would climb into bed together and hold each other’s wrists and feel the blood pulse through our veins in sync. We were that similar, that close.  _

_ I have to go to work; more later. _

_ Love, Mama _

 

_ Dear bunny, _

_ I named you Anastacia. I doubt that’s still your name. But to me, you will always be Anastacia. I named you very carefully. Here’s how you got your name: _

_ Adara was a wonderful storyteller. Sometimes they were funny stories. Usually they were stories from her holy book, but not always. They were always terrible, beautiful stories. Sometimes she would speak from her heart, sometimes she would ask what I wanted to hear. _

_ Inevitably the story I wanted to hear was of Anastacia, the Candomble goddess. Adara would always roll her eyes and grumble that it was a cult story, not from her holy book, but she always told it when I asked. I can hear her now, reciting it in her rough soft voice. _

“Anastacia was the most beautiful of all the slaves, with black skin and dark dark eyes, like the centers of flowers. She was always given the worst work in the fields, but she always protected her friends and family. She always did her work and theirs too, because she loved them. When they were sick, she would heal them, even if laying hands on them meant that she would be sick too. She would tell them stories about freedom, about green grass and flowers and open skies, and she gave them all hope. She worked hard. But that wasn’t enough for her owner. He wanted her body too. He wanted her in his bed.

“Anastacia said no. She said he would have to kill her first. But he was strong, and heavy, and he forced her.”

_ I nodded along. I knew how that went. _

_ “ _ She went back to the slaves, with her head held high. She told them ‘This is done.’ She told them ‘We will rise up, together, for freedom.’ She talked loudly and boldly and filled their hearts with joy. She talked back, so loud, that her master said, ‘You will never talk again.’”

_ Adara spoke in a theatrical way that would sound silly on anybody else, but coming from her it was just beautiful. _

_ “ _ He put a muzzle over her nose and mouth, and a heavy metal collar around her neck. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t speak. Her mouth rotted away under the muzzle, leaving a great black hole. And she died there, of gangrene and starvation, wasted away. But that was not the end of her story. After she died, the angels themselves came down from heaven and lifted her up. Now she watches over all slaves, everywhere. She will heal you when you’re sick. And when you’re hopeless, pray to Saint Anastacia, then listen to her voice. She will tell you again about freedom, open skies and flowers and the ocean.”

_ I liked that story the best and asked for it all the time. _

_ I love you, strong girl, _

_ Mummy _

 

_ Dear bunny, _

_ Today I’ve been thinking about my sisters.  _ _They love you very much._ _ I’ll tell you about them. _

_ First there was Ji. Ji and Adara didn’t like each other, but I got along alright with her. Ji was the opposite of Adara, and they balanced out that way. Ji was loud and angry. She hated religion and anything to do with it. She spoke loudly and frankly about her body: what was hurting, what was good, how she was feeling, what made her angry. She was open and honest and crass. She would mock our clients’ performance behind their backs until we were all rolling on the floor laughing. She also started fights. One person looks at her wrong and she’ll be at your throat, screaming. Sometimes I wonder if she was the most emotionally healthy of all of us. _

_ The only person she couldn’t beat in a fight was Tara. Rumor had it that it took all eight security bots to hold Tara back when she was first taken. Tara was stubborn. She had grown up on the streets of the Titan Bubble. She kept to herself, usually just sitting in the corner, facing the wall and muttering to herself. To everyone’s surprise she got along best with Aquila.  _

_ Aquila was the youngest, ten years old when she arrived. I’ve never seen anybody with golden eyes before, but she had them, and she was always watching. She knew everything. She could tell your deepest secrets just by looking at you. She would ask the most deep questions, things we couldn’t answer. “Who is God? Why are we here? Why do I exist?” And we would stare at her like she had grown antlers.  _

_ I liked sharing a room with Lyra, who had the most beautiful voice, and would sing all the time. On nights when I couldn’t sleep, all revved up on vitamins, she would sing to me until I was almost sleeping. She was young and had a small clear voice like water. _

_ Then there were the Jupiter twins, Marina and Ariel. They never spoke to anybody but each other unless they had to. They spoke to each other in whispers too low for anybody else to understand. When they had to speak they spoke softly, so you had to lean in.  _

_ Cassie was from Mercury and was very beautiful. She was one of the most popular girls, which was surprising due to her dark skin. Most of our clients liked their girls to be light. But Cassie had long curls that fell to her waist and thick dark eyelashes that ringed huge black eyes. She was funny, always telling stories to make us laugh. _

_ Andie was sold by her parents. She was the only one of us who wasn’t coerced. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into. She sometimes said it was worth it, sometimes doesn’t. _

_ Everything about Peggy was long. She had long blonde hair and a long face and long, long, long brown legs. She’s the only one who grew up in the Aphrodite Bubble. She spoke English natively, so she helped the rest of us learn. _

_ There were others who came and went, but these ones were my family. _

_ Love love love, _

_ Mummy _


	28. The Text Message

Cormoran kneaded his scalp and hoped that what he was reading was fiction. He wasn’t naive, he knew about trafficking. He had gone into massage parlors, he had seen girls on the streets both in London and abroad, and what had he done about it? He’d told himself that the women were there by choice and were being paid, that it was none of his business, that he couldn’t save everyone. He had looked the other way, and congratulated himself for never personally partaking. 

”Who’s to blame for that murderous expression?” Robin asked. Cormoran groaned.

“Men.”

“Cormoran Strike, a feminazi?” Robin teased, “I don’t believe my eyes.” Cormoran leaned back in his chair and shot her a cocky grin. 

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“That you’re a raging misandrist? Yeah, a bit.”

“Not a misandrist. But I’m always pro woman.”

“So you would call yourself a feminist?”

“I support equality, sure.”

“For all women, not just the hot ones?”

Cormoran narrowed his eyes at her. Her tone was light and teasing, but her expression was flashing with a challenge. Finally he gave in with a sigh. 

“I don’t have a great track record with women, do I.”

“No.”

“It’s not that I think men are better than women,” Cormoran said, “It’s that I don’t like people in general.”

“Ah. So neither a misogynist or a misandrist. You’re a misanthrope.”

“Something like that.” He cleared his throat. “I am… trying, you know. To be better. With women, and… and people.”

“I know,” Robin said, smiling, “I’ve noticed.”

They sat for a moment, grinning at each other like fools. Then Robin’s phone rang. 

“It’s Vanessa,” Robin said. She picked up. “Hiya Vanessa.”

“Hey, Robin,” Vanessa said, “Do you know a man named Peter Balena?”

“Yeah, he’s helping me out with the Sian Carw case. Why?”

“We just brought him is for sexual harassment of a minor.”

Robin’s hand flew to her chest.

“No! What happened?”

“One of his students claims that he sent her a dick pic.”

“Holy shit.”

Cormoran was watching Robin closely, trying to figure out what was happening.

“We took his phone, it’s pretty clear. Sent from his phone to hers, with the words ‘ _ This is just a taste _ ’.”

“Fuck.  _ Fuck _ .” Robin suddenly felt sick to her stomach. “Was it… naked?” 

Cormoran’s eyebrows shot heavenward. 

“As a plucked chicken,” Vanessa said. 

“Shit.”

“I saw that he’s sent you several emails,” Vanessa said, “Can I ask why?”

“Yes, he was helping me translate some documents that Sian Carw wrote in code. He knew her.”

“Did he seem sketchy to you at all?”

“No, but I don’t know him well.” She tried to think of every interaction they’d had so far. He had been alone with Britannia when Robin had met him. Had the girl shown any signs of fear or abuse around him? “What’s he saying?” Robin asked.

“He’s claiming his phone was stolen,” Vanessa said, “That somebody stole his phone, snapped a naughty picture, and sent it to his student. It is true that we haven’t found the phone yet.”

“Is the photograph definitely his penis? Not somebody else’s?” Robin asked.

“We can’t know unless he whips his dick out and proves it, can we? And we can hardly force him to do that.”

“Have you searched his office?”

“Yes. And his house, his computer, his phone. That’s how I found out that he was emailing you.”

“Did you find anything suspicious?”

“Well, we’re still looking but so far there’s a suspicious lack of anything suspicious. No condoms, no pornography, nothing. Not even any stains on his sheets. Either he’s the only truly innocent person on earth, or he’s hiding something.”

Robin tapped her fingers on her lips, thinking. 

“I mean there’s not really any way to prove it  _ wasn’t _ him, is there. It’s basically a smoking gun. The dick pic shot from his camera, sent to his student. Have you spoken to the student?”

“Yes. She says it’s never happened before. She did attend a lot of after class solo tutoring, though. And they had each others’ personal phone numbers.”

Cormoran gestured for Robin to hand him the phone.

“Vanessa, Cormoran has a question,” Robin said, “I’m putting you on speakerphone.” She hit the speaker icon.

“Hi Cormoran,” Vanessa said, her voice now taking up the room, “Did you catch all that?”

“I can gather enough,” Cormoran said, “I was thinking about something Dale mentioned. Dale is Sian’s ex-girlfriend, and she told me that Peter is asexual.”

“Yes, I did see the asexual pride flag on his desk,” Vanessa said, “Doesn’t mean he didn’t send it, though. He could claim to be asexual to cover up that he’s a pedophile.”

“He used to work in California,” Cormoran said, “Have you contacted the police there?”

“Yes. They haven’t gotten back to us. We’ll see. He’ll be leaving on bail soon, his mother is paying it.”

“Right, well, keep us updated,” Robin said, “Thanks for letting us know.”

“Talk to you later.” There was a beep as Vanessa hung up.

Robin ran her hands over her face and sighed.

“You alright?” Cormoran asked. 

She went over to the stove and poured herself another cup of tea. She blew on it, considering before she answered.

“I just didn’t see it coming,” she finally said, “I considered other people as suspects, I agonized and plotted and wrote up lists. Peter never even entered my mind.” She shook her head. “Why do I never see it coming?”

“You think he killed Sian, then?” Cormoran asked.

“He’s guilty of  _ something _ . And if he’s guilty of one it makes sense that he’s guilty of the other, isn’t it? Too big of a coincidence.”

“The theory is that Sian finds out that he’s harassing young girls, she confronts him, he kills her?”

“Or he’s been harassing her all along,” Robin said, “He could even be one of the characters in the story.”

“If it’s true that he’s harassing young girls, he’d have motive. But not yet any means or opportunity. How would he get up there? And where would he get a syringe of heroin?”

“He is a recovering addict,” Robin said.

“He was translating the story,” Cormoran said, “Why do that if he was guilty?”

“We don’t know if it was an accurate translation. He could have been trying to throw us off the trail the whole time.”

“That’s an awful thought.”

“Isn’t it just.” She went to the computer and called up the files. “I suppose we can test it to a certain extent. Copy and paste each word into google translate.”

“Will that work?”

“Enough to give us a feel. I didn’t do it before because it’s slow and not very accurate, but it’s worth a try. Just to see if he’s been scamming us all along.”

Cormoran pulled out his notepad.

“Give us a word, then. I’ll write it down.”

“Alright. The first bit in the file is maybe Welsh?  _ Fy cwningen fabi annwyl _ .”

“Don’t let Barclay hear you pronouncing that.” 

“Shut up.” She copied and pasted it into google. “‘ _ Adorable baby Rabbit. _ ’ Okay, close enough to the translation.” 

Cormoran wrote it down on his notepad.

“Next is Russian or Polish or something. I have no idea how to pronounce it.” She copied and pasted. “ _ ‘I’m going to addiction support group.’ _ ” 

“Also similar.”

“ _ ‘Sa Biyernes _ …’ that means on Friday. I don’t even know what alphabet the next language is in. I swear it’s hieroglyphics.”

Cormoran came around behind and looked over her shoulder.

“That’s Amharic. Ethiopian.”

“Do you understand it?”

“Of course not. But I can recognize it.” Robin typed it in.

“It means ‘they encouraged me.’” She went back to the original document and made a pleased little noise. “German! I can read that. ‘ _ S _ _ o schreiben Sie ein Wiederherstellungsjournal.’  _ Easy. That means ‘ _ To write a recovery journal.’ _ ”

“You speak German?”

“A bit. I learned it in school.”

“I’ve known you how long, and I didn’t know that you speak German.”

“I’m better at French.”

“Jesus.”

“Well, what languages do you speak?”

“Latin, mostly. A bit of Pashto.”

“With Latin you can make out a lot of things, can’t you?”

“Just isolated words. I spent a lot of time in Angola, so I can do some Portuguese. I know how to say ‘Where is the British Embassy’ in about six languages. And ‘Where is the toilet’.”

“Did you ever get them mixed up?”

“To the great hilarity of all,” he said dryly. Robin grinned, then went back to the document. “ _ ‘Níl mé i gcomhair iriseoireachta, _ ’ Ooh, Irish. What a beautiful language. It means ‘I’m not for journalism.’”

“Less close, but there you go.”

The afternoon passed in easy companionship, Robin reading out translations and Cormoran writing them down. Rain drummed against the window and the radiator hummed in the corner, emitting the comfortable smell of burning dust. Around one, Cormoran called in takeaway and they sat back to read over their translated work.

 

“ _ Adorable baby Rabbit, I’m going to addiction support group on Fridays. They encouraged me to write a recovery journal. I’m not for journalism but I may write to you. You may read it.  _ _ Do you know how much I love you? I love you over words. Outside of all understanding. _

_ Love love love, _

_ Mummy _

_ My dear rabbit baby, _

_ In a support group they continue to encourage us to speak, and tell our stories. People have many sad stories. _

_ I don't think I've ever said to me story. At littlest not loud. But maybe I can start writing some of you. Perhaps if you knew, you would understand, although I don't know about that. Even I don't understand it all, and it's my story. _

_ Love and kisses, _

_ Mummy _

_ My dear child rabbit, _

_ Here in Aphrodite bubble, everyone who cares is it than What You Do. That's the first thing anyone ever asks. What do you do? I was confused about this first. I do all sorts of things. Dance at the Zumba in the free park every Saturday. I attend the support group. I go to the library. I think about you, every time, every day. _

_ They mean what I do for a job. How do I make money? Everyone is concerned about this here. That answer is less interesting. I'll clean a house for an old man. It's not an interesting job, but it pays me a lot to find my own apartment. Apartment of my own! Can you believe it? With kitchen and bathroom and everything. All of you are yours. When I find you, it may be. At least until we can leave the Aphrodite Bubble. _

_ Every day, every day, _

_ Mummy” _

 

“Well…” Cormoran said, comparing the two files, “I can’t say that it’s  _ too _ different. I mean it’s a shit translation job, but the basic meaning is the same.”

“We can’t do the whole thing that way. How many pages is the full document? This took us ages, and it’s not even one page.”

“So do we trust Peter with it?”

“Who else do we know who can translate all of that?” Robin said, “He’s the only one.”

“He’s a pedophile.”

“He  _ is _ …” Robin stuck her chin out, deep in thought. “Is it just me, or is everybody involved in Sian’s life getting sent out of commission somehow?”

“How do you mean?”

“My brakes die. There’s a problem with Gorman Schwam’s oxygen tank. Peter is found with dirty texts on his phone. Do I sound crazy? I feel like I sound crazy.”

“We’re investigators, Robin, crazy is what we do. It’s only bad when you start mistaking theories for facts.” Robin tried to hide her relief. “Dale told me that Sian had warned her about people coming around and asking questions,” Cormoran went on, “Not that it stopped Dale from answering all mine.”

“Doesn’t mean that Peter is off the hook. But.”

“But let’s keep letting him translate for now. I know some Pashto , you know some German, Barclay can help with the Welsh in a pinch. We can’t translate it all but we can recognize enough glaring inaccuracies to keep Peter accountable.”

“He might have no access to phone or computer.”

“I’ll bring the hard copy of the document to him tomorrow. I can drop by with Vanessa on my way. See if I can get the case file.”

“You’ll need to trade for it. Vanessa’s got too much integrity to give it away free.”

“Do you have any information that Youth Investigations might want to trade for? That’s not Shanker’s expertise, thank god.”

“I’ll call Stephanie tonight. See if she has anything. It’s been a while since we’ve used her.”

Stephanie had returned to Robin’s life shortly after the Chiswell case. To nobody’s surprise, Whittaker had dropped the girl like a piece of trash, and Stephanie had taken up with a man named Chet Pryce, the sleazy owner of an adult video superstore. Pryce’s ex-wife had sent Robin to hunt him down over lost alimony, and Robin had found Stephanie again, slightly less beaten and abused than before. Stephanie didn’t have the confidence to leave the man, but she did have the confidence to occasionally share tips and secrets of the sex industry with Robin, in exchange for cash. 

Robin fought off a mildly sick feeling in her stomach, and secretly hoped that Stephanie would have nothing to give her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot packed in here, I know. Thanks for being such dedicated readers. I appreciate each and every one of you.


	29. Youth Investigations

“I’m here to see Vanessa Ekwensi,” Cormoran told the woman at the front desk of the Youth Investigations Department, “My name is Cormoran Strike.”

“One moment, please,” the woman said, “I’ll let her know that you’re here.”

Cormoran sat in one of the hard plastic chairs and looked around. He had never been to Vanessa’s particular department. Thankfully, he and Robin had never needed to interact much with Youth Investigations, who focused on child abuse and kidnapping. The interior was softer than the other Met departments Cormoran had been to. It still had the same hard linoleum floors and sharp fluorescent lighting, but the walls were covered in children’s drawings and paper cutouts of reindeer and Christmas trees. There were also bright posters warning about signs of child abuse and giving phone numbers for various hotlines and service providers. 

“Cormoran.” Vanessa was standing at the door, clearly surprised to see him, slightly guarded. They were always polite to each other, connected by a mutual love of the justice system and Robin. But they had never been close, never friends. 

“I’m here about Sian Carw,” Cormoran said, standing with a slight wince of pain.

“That’s not my case,” Vanessa said, “This is Youth Investigations. Carw is Layborn’s case.”

“It’s your case now that you have Peter Balena. Don’t tell me you’re not following up on the connection. I know you’re a good detective.”

Vanessa raised an eyebrow at the flattery. 

“Layborn still has lead on her case. But yes, I have looked at the possible connection.” She sniffed and jerked her head to the door. “Follow me.” 

Cormoran followed her down a hallway papered in photos of missing children, and he could feel their eyes on him as he walked. Vanessa led him into a small office with her name on the door. Inside, it looked more like a therapist’s office than a police station. The hard plastic chairs had been replaced with squashy armchairs, and there was a garish silver Christmas tree I n one corner. A tapestry of pandas hung on the wall, and there was a white-noise machine playing in the background. He sat across from her in one of the soft armchairs. 

“Do you have the file?” he asked.

“Of course,” Vanessa said, “But I’m not about to go showing it off to you, even if I am friends with Robin.”

“That’s what Robin said.” Cormoran’s mouth twitched in half a smile. “She said you had more integrity than that.”

“My reputation precedes me,” Vanessa said with a grin. 

“Hopefully I’m also known as somebody with integrity.”

Vanessa snorted. 

“Integrity?” she said, “Nice try, but I’ve spoken to Lorelei.” 

“Fine,” Cormoran said, rolling his eyes, “I have integrity in the workplace.” The conversation was not going as he had planned. He never wanted to sit opposite Vanessa in an interrogation room. “I’m sure Wardle has told you that i'm always willing to deal in information, and that my information is always good.”

“You’ve got sex crime contacts,” Vanessa said, “Of course. I find that neither surprising nor encouraging.”

“Our contact is a friend of Robin’s,” he said. He had always felt a deep obligation to maintain the anonymity of his various underground contacts, never telling Wardle about Shanker. Something about Vanessa, however, made him feel the need to explain. “We met her on the Shacklewell Ripper case. She was barely a child. Robin has been trying to get her out of the business for years now, but you know how it is.”

Vanessa grew serious, her sarcasm vanishing.

“I do,” she said.

“The best we can do for her now is give her some cash on the side in exchange for information.”

“Right. So. What have you got.”

“Do you know of Saint Justina’s School for Girls?”

“Of course. Captain Harken graduated from there.”

“And her mother, and her daughter. And Judge Martin’s wife and daughter.”

“What about it?”

“One of their custodians set up secret cameras in the locker room, and has been selling the videos for big bucks.”

“No.”

“Yes. My contact’s new boyfriend has been helping with the sales.”

“Christ.”

“Give me your copy of the file and I’ll give you the custodians name.”

Vanessa took a file out of a locked drawer and slid it across the table to him. He stuck it in his briefcase.

“The janitor’s name is Jacob Almat,” he said.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Vanessa said, her mood much improved. She stood to walk him out. “Before you go, I have one more question.”

“Anything.”

“Do you think he’s innocent?” she asked. Cormoran tried to see if she was testing him, but she looked genuinely curious.

“I don’t know. But I trust Robin.”

Vanessa nodded.

“I trust Robin too.”


	30. Visiting Peter

Cormoran went straight from the station to Peter Balena’s flat. Even though it was well past noon, Peter answered the door in his pajamas. He was unshaven, and had deep bags under his eyes.

“Hello?”

“Hello, my name is Cormoran Strike, I work with Robin Ellacott?”

Peter blinked at Cormoran suspiciously. 

“And?”

“And we still need your help translating Sian’s document.”

“Have you heard…”

“Yes.”

Peter seemed to shrink back behind the door. He reminded Cormoran of a large child.

“I didn’t do it," he said, "I didn’t send… That. My phone was stolen.”

“Right now all we need to worry about is Sian’s document. And you’re the only one who can help us.”

Peter stood back.

“Come in. Come in.”

Cormoran followed Peter into the flat. It was neat but comfortable, with fluffy fur rugs and lots of cushions. There were artifacts from around the world hung on the walls: saris, kabuki masks, batik tapestries. There was a large flag hanging over the sofa, with stripes in black, grey, white, and purple. Books covered every surface. Peter went to the coffee table and picked up  legal pad.

“So…” Peter looked almost hopeful. “Do you believe me?”

“We believe that you’re translating these documents accurately. That’s all we know right now.”

“I’m not allowed a computer, you know.”

“Do you need one to translate it?”

“No.” Peter gestured to the coffee table, which was littered with pages. “I printed out the document and I’ve been picking at it from memory. I can figure out most of the languages that way. When I can’t, I’ve been using dictionaries. But I’ve had to hand-write it.” He waved the legal pad in demonstration.”

“Good. That’s very good.”

“Yes. It’s been good to have… To have something...” To Cormoran’s surprise and great discomfort, Peter’s chin started to tremble and he blinked away tears. “I’m sorry,” Peter said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I…” He hurriedly mopped at his eyes. “It’s been difficult. I’m sorry.” 

Cormoran watched Peter carefully, trying to determine if the man in front of him could be capable of child molestation or murder.

“Just get it done,” Cormoran said, “Do you still have access to a phone?”

“My landline. Not a cell. Like I said, it was stolen. Here, I’ll give you the landline number…” He felt around in his pockets for a pen, then remembered that he was in pajamas. “I have Robin’s number, I can call her.”

“You call  _ me _ ,” Cormoran said, taking out a business card, “Me, not Robin. Don’t talk to Robin, don’t come near Robin.” Cormoran trusted Peter to get the translation done, but he wasn’t about to trust him with Robin. “This is my personal number.”

“I’ll get it done fast,” Peter said. He sniffed. “It’s not like I have anything to distract me, now.”

“Good. I’ll read this. When you get the next section done, call me. I need it as soon as I can. Don’t wait until you’ve finished the whole thing, I just need the next pages.”

“The way we’ve been doing it. Yes.”

“Exactly.”

 

Cormoran was too imatient to wait until he got back to the office. He sat in the car outside of Peter's flat and read the next installment off the legal pad. It was written in neat, loopy print

_ Dear bunny, _

_ For a while these girls were my whole world. I met with the clients, of course, but the clients rarely wanted to talk. Then there were the maintenance men, but we weren’t allowed to talk to them. As I said before, Elizabeth’s brother Mark had a business similar to the Haute and Taut, only with men and older women who did plumbing and domestic work, instead of young girls who danced. If there was a problem with the plumbing or construction, Elizabeth would call her brother and one of Mark’s men would come and fix it. Elizabeth didn't want our paths to cross too much, but she didn't consider the workers much of a threat. They had been programmed well, and only the most trusted were allowed to come to us. She stressed that her brother's people were below us, and we shouldn't demean ourselves by interacting with them.  _

_ One day, when I was about fifteen, the sinks started spewing water. It was deep planet water, contaminated by the sulfur outside the artificial atmosphere, and it made us all smell like rotten eggs. Elizabeth had no choice but to call on her brother, and got some sewer experts to come and fix it.  _

_ When I walked into the bathroom that morning, there was Musa, elbow deep into the wall. _

_ It took me a beat to recognize it as him. The two years had taken their tolls on both of us. He was as thin as ever, with heavy lines around his eyes and mouth and grey patches in his hair. Before he had been only a father-figure, too young to be my real dad. Now he could have passed for my grandfather. But he still had the same deep brown eyes, the same scar across his mouth, the same missing front tooth. _

_ I ran out of the room and hoped he wouldn’t recognize me. I didn’t want him to know how low I’d fallen since he’d seen me last. I didn’t want him to know what I’d become. I didn’t think he would recognize me. He hadn’t seen me since I was ten, and, while I was still too young for the full range of plastic surgery, I’d had my nose narrowed and my lips filled, not to mention the layers of cosmetics that molded my face into a different shape. _

_ I waited outside the door, leaning up against the wall and trying to act casual, breathing deep. I was still in the hall when he emerged from the bathroom. He nodded at me and said, “You can go ahead and use the sinks, although the right one might still sputter a little bit.” _

_ Then he held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger pressed together in our old sign for  _ water _. _

_ I went to the bathroom as soon as he was gone and turned on both faucets as high as they could go. There was a rushing sound, several hacking sprays, then a crumpled up ball of fabric fell out in my hand. Unclogged, the sink ran free, so I tucked the paper into my underwear and washed my face. _

_ He had written on a wet wipe in permanent marker. The ink had smudged into a thick black cloud, but I still managed to make out the words, written in Arabic. _

_ “ _ A is dead. It was quick + painless. I’m sorry. Glad you’re alive, even if it’s here.”

 

_ I pondered the message as I danced that evening. I was sad about Abas’s passing, of course. He was my brother, and the last family member I’d had. However, it was not much of a surprise. I had known that the drugs were killing Abas, even when we were on The Serpent. Musa said it was quick and painless, but that’s a lie. It was probably painless, I doubt my brother was feeling anything by the end. But Abas didn’t die quick. He died slow, a knife that went a little deeper with every inhale he breathed at that pipe. _

_ Yes, I was sad. But my pain at losing Abas was eclipsed by the realization that I had an ally on the Outside. Musa’s note opened up the world for me. I had spent three years in the club, leaving our suite only to dance or entertain clients. After two years inside the same walls, you forget that there’s anywhere else. We tried to hold onto the world outside. We told stories, shared memories, imagined what was happening. Whenever we were joined by somebody new we would ask them a hundred questions about what was happening and what had changed. However our most recent member, Aquila, was only nine and couldn’t answer much of anything. Our only connections to the world outside the hotel were our clients. No matter how foul our clients were, we would breathe in deep, smelling sun and rain and air on their skin and clothes. We weren’t supposed to ask them about anything other than their desires, but sometimes they liked to talk, complaining about politics or technology or their wives, and we would drink in every word, whether we understood it or not, to share with the others later. This gave us a distorted image of Outside. Outside was filled with lecherous men and crooked leaders and nagging wives who didn’t understand. Outside belonged to our clients: rich volatile politicians and paunchy military men.  _

_ Musa’s letter changed that for me. Suddenly I had an friend on the outside. While he was still owned by Elizabeth’s brother, and far from free, he could leave the hotel and breath the air and feel the sun and look at faces that were new and different from the same thirty people he saw every day. He made it real for me. It was real, and it was close. I could put my hand on the wall and know that only one foot away there was air and life and freedom.  _

 

_ I waited several months before responding to Musa’s letter, partly because we were videotaped at all times, partly because I had no pen or ink, partly because I didn’t know what to say. There were so many things I wanted to know, so many questions about outside, and all I could think of to ask was how the characters in my favorite soap opera were getting along, and how the weather was. I decided to keep it open-ended.  _

“What’s the world like out there?”

_ I wrote it by using eyeliner and a pair of underwear, which I wrapped up tightly in a shower cap to keep from getting wet. I waited for an opportunity when the bathroom was empty, then I took a clothes hanger and stuffed the bundle far up into the faucet of the sink. The sink stopped up solid, and the plumbers had to be called in again. _

_ Musa came two days later, and he repeated his previous action. This time he wrote on waxed paper, which didn’t bleed or run. _

_ “ _ It’s hot outside. It’s September 3rd, if you didn’t know. Elections for a new prime minister are coming up and it’s causing a stir, although we’re pretty isolated from it all. Do you have enough food and water? We have enough, although we sleep on the floor most of the time, and there’s only one toilet for thirty of us. I pray that you are being treated well.”

_ I considered this. Were we treated well? We had soft mattresses and Egyptian cotton sheets, our cosmetics were worth thousands of pounds, any medical ailment was seen to and treated with expert care. We were fed small portions, but they were regular. Often I looked around me and wondered what Abas would think if he could see me. He had always dreamed of luxury and excess, of the world I was living in. But at night I would lie in my memory foam mattress, with my Egyptian cotton duvet, in my silk lingerie, and I would long for the rotting barn in the Guinivere Bubble like I had never longed for anything. _

_ I long for you, _

_ Mummy _

 


	31. Birthday Brunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorty but goody today.

Cormoran was obsessing and he knew it. He could feel the jittering throughout his body, every cell screaming for a cigarette. He felt chafed and raw. So, as he always did when things got bad, he buried himself in work, hiding beneath the blanket of evidence to protect himself from the scraping hunger that was itching in his veins. 

He opened the case file and pinned the crime scene photos to the wall behind his desk, then sat back and stared at them, waiting for clarity. _The cot, the posters, the rabbit, the girl._ He focused on the photos of the bathroom, and the body. Sian’s short black hair was fanned out in the water like fins. The dye had started leaching out due to long submersion and had stained both the water and her skin a deep purple. There was a close-up shot of her arm, floating on top of the water, the syringe still jutting out of the skin. There were autopsy photos of withered organs, scarred from past drug use. It all looked cut-and-dry, an obvious suicide. But something didn’t feel right. He stuck three tabs of Nicorette into his mouth.

“Oh my god.”

Cormoran wheeled around to see Lucy standing in the doorway, her eyes wide, taking in the collage of photographs in front of her. A birthday gift bag dangled limply from one hand.

“Lucy!”

Cormoran threw his arms up, as if that might protect her from the gruesome display that was covering the wall. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked. 

“We have brunch plans,” Lucy said weakly, “for your birthday?”

“I thought we were meeting on Thursday.”

“Today is Thursday.”

“Fuck.” He looked at his wall of photos, then back at Lucy. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

She was silent all the way down to the street. When she finally spoke there was a forced brightness to her tone. 

“So,” she said, “You haven’t worked a murder in a while.”

“What makes you think it’s a murder?” Cormoran asked. Lucy shot him a side-eye.

“Are you testing me?” she asked. 

“No. Genuinely curious.” 

“The needle was inserted postmortem,” she said, like it was obvious.

They arrived at the cafe before Cormoran could fully process this comment, and Lucy was speaking to the hostess, confirming their reservation. Cormoran didn’t get a chance to respond until they were seated with their menus in front of them.

“Tell me more,” he said, “Why do you think the needle was inserted postmortem?”

Lucy flipped through her menu.

“There was no bruising or scab around the entry point,” she said matter-of-factly, “and no previous track marks. I doubt she even hit a vein.” She turned the page on the menu. “I wonder if the sweet potato hash-browns are dairy free. Did I tell you Greg and I are trying the Whole Thirty diet?” 

Cormoran stared at her like she’d started speaking Latin. 

“Back up there,” he said, “How on earth…”

A brief sad shadow flickered across her face. 

“You’re not the only one who obsessed over Mum’s death,” she said.

“But during the trial you never said anything.”

“No. I was working through stuff.” 

The waiter arrived and took their order. Cormoran asked for his waffles in a daze.

“During the trial I was pissed at Mum, and didn’t want to think of her as a victim,” Lucy went on, after the waiter left, “But after you joined up I guess I went a bit mad and did a lot of research into heroin and overdoses and such. My therapist at the time said that it was a perfectly normal response. I don’t know.”

“Did you come up with any evidence?”

“Just that Mum was still alive when the needle was inserted. Not conclusive either way.”

“But it could be conclusive for Sian.”

“Indeed.” She pushed the bag across the table with a wry smile. “Happy birthday, Stick.”

 

 

Cormoran checked his mailbox when he got home, and found several lose yellow pages torn from a legal pad. He cursed. That meant that Peter had been in the building, far too close to Robin than Cormoran would have liked. Still, he took the pages upstairs and started to read. 

 

_ My wonderful baby bunny, _

_ Someday you might start asking who your father is.  _

_ I don’t know how you started. I mean, how you came to be. I would say “who fathered you,” but I don’t want to honor any of them with the title of father. “Father” is a position of respect. The man who got me pregnant does not deserve respect. He is nothing more than the finger that pushed the dominoes into motion. You are all mine, and only mine. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, without a speck of ugliness in you. You were grown in horror and pain, but you came out completely pure. Completely good. You have nothing to do with that man. _

_ Still, it is good for you to know. My mother told me pretty lies about my father, in an attempt to protect me, and I wish that she hadn’t. I’d prefer the ugly truth. So I’ve given it some thought. I’ve compared my regular clients, and the nights I met with them, and compared that to the time I first noticed a change in me. After calculating it all, I’ve narrowed it down to three men: Dan Jubelin, Roger Churches, and Baby Auggie. _

_ Dan Jubelin was one of the few who told us his name outright. He liked us to say it out loud. Most men were too cautious to give us their full names. Dan was a dentist, and did our dental work in exchange for our services. It was a good situation for Jacob and Elizabeth and the others in charge. Doctor Jubelin was loud, blond, and about seventy pounds overweight. He liked to share his opinions on politics (people needed to stop acting so entitled) and complain about his coworkers (his partner had body odor and was disrespectful). I did not like Dan Jubelin, but going to see him meant leaving the club, so I put up with it alright. _

_ We knew Roger Churches because he was a famous politician, and some of the girls had seen him on TV back before they were brought in. He was into weird stuff, weirder even than most of the guys. He had a breathy little voice and a florid face, and he sweat uncontrollably. I hate Roger Churches with all my soul. I hope he is dead. _

_ Baby Auggie was young, in his twenties. He often came with his father, who was old, and who had a reputation for violence. I never met with the father, myself, although apparently he was a famous singer. He had high expectations for Auggie, and I think it grated on the boy. Auggie was really just a boy, not even ten years older than me. I met him on his birthday, when his father brought him in, I suppose as a rite of passage.  _

_ Auggie liked to talk. He never lasted long, but he was always too embarrassed to be in and out of my room after five minutes, he thought his friends would tease him. So we would lie there, him holding me, and he would tell me all about his life, his worries, his money. Sometimes he would ask about me, which was strange. He would ask me where I was from, and if I had brothers and sisters, and where I would travel if I could go anywhere in the world. We were told to never talk about ourselves, but he was quite insistent, so I answered as loosely as I could.  _ I’m from Earth. I have no family. I want to go to Guinevere Bubble.  _ He had a level of kindness that most of them didn’t. Sometimes he asked me how I was doing, or stroked my hair. Sometimes he would cry. I feel no compassion for him, not really. I’d like to see him in prison with the rest. But of the three, I hope that you are his.  _

_ Now you know, _

_ Mummy _


	32. Happy Birthday Mister Strike

Cormoran spent his birthday with Robin and the Herberts.  They ate curry and drank Moscow Mules, and spent dinner discussing Cormoran and Nick’s various teenage misadventures.  Ilsa managed to hold out until after dinner before turning on Robin.

“So Robin, I hear you’ve started seeing the Mortician’s Assistant,” she said, “What’s that all about?” 

Nick and Cormoran shared an exasperated glance.

“His name is Hunter Chasman,” Robin said.

“Is it serious?” Ilsa asked.

“You don’t have to answer her,” Nick said, “Ilsa, stop prying.”

“I’m not prying, I’m just curious.”

“We’re taking it slow,” Robin said, “It’s not a big deal.”

Ilsa hummed, momentarily satisfied. Cormoran hurried to change the subject before she brought it up again. 

“Listen,” he said, “Robin and I need to get into a woman's home to see if a girl named Alice might be Sian’s baby. We were originally planning on going undercover as adoptive parents. But there’s a bit of a problem.”

“You couldn’t pretend to want kids if your life depended on it?” Ilsa said with a smile. Cormoran rolled his eyes.

“We just don’t know what questions to ask,” Robin said, “That’s all. We were wondering if you’d like to come along. You can see the baby, ask the relevant questions, talk about the legal issues. Cormoran and I will act as supportive friends while scoping out the scene, looking from a investigator's perspective. I talked to Amani, and she said that she’d be willing to book us all an appointment.” 

Nick looked thrilled.

“How exciting! We’d love that!” He turned to Ilsa. “And who know, maybe we’ll make a connection with the baby.” 

Ilsa rolled her eyes. 

“Why bother getting our hopes up?” she said, “But yes, okay. I’ll help you guys out.”

Nick lead the conversation to the territory of football, and they spent a lovely several minutes insulting each other. Ilsa brought out a massive chocolate cake, and Cormoran glared at all of them while they sang him happy birthday. 

“This is a little gift for you,” Ilsa said, pushing a small bag across the table. Cormoran opened it up. He narrowed his eyes. 

“Glasses?” he said, “Really?”

“Not just any glasses,” Ilsa said, “It’s a camera.”

Cormoran examined them. 

“What?”

“See there, where the screw is on the corner? That screw is actually a tiny little camera.”

Cormoran had seen spy-gear before, and had occasionally used it in the army, but had never owned any himself. He was very impressed.

“It shoots video,” Ilsa said, “And it connects remotely to any computer, no matter how far away.”

Cormoran passed the glasses to Robin, who turned them over in her hands, impressed.

“That’s incredible,” Robin said, “I feel like it’s my birthday too.” She passed a square flat package across the table. “Mine isn’t nearly so nice, but…”

He opened Robin’s gift to find a record of Tom Waits Mule Variations.

“How did you know…” he started.

“I’m an investigator,” she said with a shy grin, “I investigate.”

“I don’t have this one. I have others, but not this one.”

“I know. I was surprised that you didn’t. It’s his best.”

“How did you know?” he repeated.

“Remember when the toilet stopped working and I had to use the one in your flat?”

“Sure, last summer.”

“I noticed your collection. I thought it would be good to plan ahead, so I took note of what you did and didn’t have.”

“I can’t decide if that’s brilliant or terrifying,” Cormoran said.

“Ah, yes, well, I’m a little bit of both. So it works.”

 

Robin left around eleven, and Cormoran and the Herberts moved into the living room. Ilsa had promised Cormoran the spare room, suspecting that he’d be too pissed to get home safely. Cormoran noticed that throughout the evening Ilsa had been refilling his glass, but they had long since run out of ginger beer and lime juice, so she was just pouring vodka out of the bottle.

“Ilsa Herbert, are you trying to get me drunk?” he asked.

“Nothing of the sort!”

“If you’re trying to take advantage of me, you lost your chance when you married my best mate,” he said with a grin. 

“Ah, now would I do that and leave poor Robin lonely?” Ilsa said. Cormoran drained his glass in attempt to keep a neutral face, forgetting that it was straight vodka. He grimaced and hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasped.

“You two work well together. Good chemistry.”

“Yes. As _coworkers_.”

“Go on with your dumb self,” she said.

Cormoran felt a bit light and silly, and looked down at his mug. How many times had she refilled it?

“It’s not like that.”

Ilsa leaned forward.

“Cormoran, I’m going to ask you a very simple question, and if you answer it I will never pry into your love life again. Alright?”

Cormoran considered. 

“Let me get this straight,” he said, “if I answer, you will never ask about me and Robin getting together?”

“Yes.”

“You will never make innuendos or hints about us?”

“Never.”

"You will never put us in intentionally intentionally situations?"

"I never-"

"Remember that time the fuse box blew and you and Nick just had to spend an hour in the basement, leaving me and Robin alone in a candle-lit room?"

"The fuse box actually did blow," Nick said, "But she did make me come downstairs with her to give you two some alone time."

"Fine," Ilsa said, "If you answer, I will never again put you in intentionally intimate situation."

“Alright. Ask your question.”

She grew serious.

“Okay, here is it: Do you want to be with Robin? Romantically?”

“I want a lot of things. That doesn’t mean that they’re a good idea.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Cormoran shot her a world-weary look. 

“Of course I want to. I’d be crazy not to.”

“So what are you so afraid of?” she asked. 

Cormoran blinked at her for a moment, then sighed.

“What’s not to be afraid of?” he said. Ilsa looked confused. “I’m scared of everything,” he said, “I’m scared of all of it. There’s two alternatives in any relationship: either we’re together forever, get married, have babies. Or we break up, and it’s awful, and the business is ruined.”

“And the first one… That’s so bad?”

“I…” Cormoran considered. He thought about Robin in her wedding dress, beaming back at him. He imagined her as a mother, taking a baby along on stakeouts. He wondered what she’d look like when her hair turned grey and she got laugh lines around her eyes. He’d never imagined himself as much of a husband or father. And yet… 

“I want to be sure,” he said, “And I want her to be sure too. When I take that step,  _ if  _ I take that step, there’s no going back. It’s forever. And I just… I just want to be sure.”

 

But he was sure. When he went to bed that night, he stared up at the guest-room ceiling and he was sure.

 

_ Dear bunny, _

_ Most women know because they stop bleeding, but I was only 90 pounds at the time and too skinny to bleed. We didn’t take birth control or use condoms or anything, although we were vaccinated for most diseases. One bigwig gets a disease and we’re shut down for good. _

_ Babies were good for the company. Boy babies were given to Elizabeth’s brother, girl babies to Elizabeth, and they could be trained up into future workers, after enough time passed.  _

_ I had never known any of the girls to carry a baby to term, although two of them had gotten pregnant. Callisto had given birth before I came along, but we never talked about it. Cassie and Ji had both both been pregnant. Cassie had tried to keep her baby but she’d had a miscarriage. Ji had gotten rid of hers by jumping off the bed 127 times. I respected Ji for her decision. I respected Cassie for having tried to keep it. I don’t want you to think that my decision to keep you was part of some political agenda.  _

_ I knew I was pregnant because I got sick in the mornings, and I got hungry for desserts all the time. I knew right away. When I came over here on The Serpent, all those years ago, I had sat next to a woman who had gotten pregnant. She told me about all the signs, how to know when it’s the real thing.  _

_ I knew from the start that I wanted to keep you. I also knew that the right thing to do would be to get rid of you, early, before I got attached.  _

_ I wouldn’t be able to keep you a secret long, not with Elizabeth weighing us and taking our measurements every evening, but I didn’t know how to say it. The word was a plug in my throat, and refused to be spoken. But Adara, God bless Adara, she knew. She always knew. It was our month to room together, and we were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling in silence. Then she rolled over to look at me. _

_ “We are going to keep this baby,” she said. _

_ I didn’t have to ask how she knew. She knew everything. Always.  _

_ “I don’t know what to do,” I said. _

_ After a minute she crawled into bed next to me and drew me into her arms. _

_ “So don’t do anything.” _

_ I fell asleep to the sound of her eyelashes blinking on the pillowcase. _

 

_ We kept it quiet for as long as we could. After two weeks, though, I couldn’t hide my sickness anymore and I was sent to the doctor, who outed me. Elizabeth announced it to the girls when we were all lined up to be weighed before shower time. Elizabeth had triumph in her voice and money in her eyes as she said the words, and I felt the cold shame rip right through me. I tried to make myself as small as I could, hunching my shoulders, my arms crossed around my belly. I couldn’t look anybody in the eye. _

_ Nobody knew what to do with the information. They assumed it wouldn’t last long, I think. I was so small, nobody expected me to carry to term. The just watched me, silently. _

_ At dinner I was given an extra cup of broth, with a cheerful “Eating for two!”. The girls slid their bowls to me under the table, and I spooned a little bit of my extra portion into each. Everybody was subdued. Only Ji was her normal loud self. _

_ “I got rid of mine,” she said, slurping up her broth, “I could help you get rid of yours.”  _

_ I shook my head. _

_ “What, you’re gonna keep it?” _

_ “If I can.” _

_ She flushed and stayed quiet. Ji was a wild one, fierce and angry and honest to the point of being hurtful. She had come to the Aphrodite Bubble in a shipping container at the age of five, and lived in a massage parlor until she was twelve. She thought that bringing children into the world was reckless and evil, and she wasn’t afraid to tell you about it. _

_ The showers were our social time. We weren’t embarrassed about being naked in front of each other. Our bodies weren’t ours; how could we be embarrassed of something that didn’t belong to us? We were watched, of course, by one of the security bots, but the steam and the noise of the rushing water gave us something almost like privacy.  _

_ I don’t know what it was that finally set Ji off. Maybe she had been waiting for the proper time, maybe it was the sight of my naked pregnancy, but before I knew what as happening, Ji was screaming like a banshee and running towards me, fists balled, and aiming a heavy punch right to my belly. _

_ I’ve survived this long due to a certain amount of quick reflex and instinct, and I was able to jump away before she got too close. Her fist caught my side, and made me fall back with a grunt, but she missed my stomach. Thank God, or I’d still be there, and you’d never have existed at all. It took four of them to hold her back. _

_ She refused to speak to me or even look in my direction for two more months. When I secretly divvied up my extra portions, she didn’t have any. I liked Ji, in spite of her harsh attitude, or maybe because of it. She was fearless, willing to talk back to the Recruiters or make fun of our clients, even if it meant getting punished. I missed her painfully those two months. _

_ I miss you too, _

_ Mummy _


	33. Alice

Cormoran, Robin, and the Herberts all arrived at Alice’s foster home together, with plans to meet Amani there. Alice was living in a temporary placement home in Bromley, with a woman named Mathilda. Mathilda was an emergency placement, who looked after babies aged newborn to three years until a more permanent home could be found. She lived in a large house, almost identical to Lucy’s, right down to the toys scattered across the spacious lawn: a tricycle, a miniature slide, a Little Tikes Cozy Coup. 

Even Mathilda looked like Lucy: small, blonde, wearing pastels. She ushered them in with an overly enthusiastic handshake and a blinding white smile. When she spoke Robin could detect a mild Irish lilt.

“Come on back,” she said, “I made scones. Your solicitor is already here.”

Amani was in the kitchen, eating a scone. Cormoran couldn’t help but notice that she looked good. Her hair was tied up in a hot pink scarf, and she had on deep purple lipstick. She made everything else seem grey and dull in comparison. 

“Robin!” Amani said, standing, “How lovely to finally meet you face-to-face.”

“Likewise,” Robin said, beaming.

“And this is Alice,” Mathilda said. Alice had been hiding under the table, but stood at the mention of her name.

When he had been looking over the files of the abandoned children, Cormoran had noticed that Alice was an odd looking baby. Now, though, he thought that she was possibly the strangest looking child he’d ever seen. Her face was pleasant enough, but it was half obscured by enormous round glasses, attached to her head by a rubber strap. She had a large hearing aid protruding from one ear, and her flaming hair rose from her head like a copper dish scrubber. Enough teeth had grown in to show a pronounced underbite, which she showed off with an enormous crooked grin. Cormoran liked her immediately.

“Oh,” Ilsa said softly, crouching down to Alice's level, “Oh hello.”

She held out a tentative hand, like she was expecting Alice to shake it. Alice reached out and grabbed Ilsa’s fingers, tugging her forward. Ilsa let out a surprised laugh. 

“She wants to take you outside,” Mathilda said, “that’s her favorite place.”

“Is that alright?” Nick said, “can we go out?”

“Absolutely.” The six of them followed Alice as she tugged Ilsa along, Ilsa hunched slightly to keep the child’s hand in hers. 

“She’s got some vision problems, which make her a wee bit wobbly,” Mathilda said, “She often needs a hand when walking. The glasses help for now, and once she gets older they’ll be able to diagnose it better.”

“I like the specs,” Nick said, “They add personality.”

“She’s certainly got that,” Mathilda said. Alice pushed at the back door and looked up at Mathilda expectantly. Mathilda unlocked it and the girl was out like a shot, squealing with joy. 

“She’s still vocalizing, but we’re hoping that she’ll start speaking soon,” Mathilda said, “Now that she has a hearing aid she should catch up quite quickly.”

Cormoran, Robin, and Amani hung back a few paces and watched as Nick and Ilsa followed Alice around the small play area. 

“That’s a flower,” Nick said, pointing, “And a bird. And a tree.”

“I think you’ve made a good match,” Amani said to Mathilda. Mathilda beamed. 

“Oh, do you really think so? I worry about Alice. It’s not easy placin’ special needs children, especially when they’re not particularly pretty.” She saw Cormoran’s raised eyebrows. “I love my babies, Mister Strike, but I don’t sugarcoat things. I’m not here to sell children. Any faults they have will be found out eventually, and it’s better to be prepared going in. Don’t want the parents to realize after two months that they can’t handle it and try to send the child back.”

Nick and Ilsa were now kicking ball around with Alice. Nick was pretending to be an announcer. 

“ALICE HAS THE BALL… SHE KICKS… SHE SCORES!” Alice jumped up and down, crowing with laughter.

“It can’t be easy,” Robin said, “Bonding with all these children and then watching them go.”

“I prefer it that way,” Mathilda said, “I’m not too involved. I need boundaries.” Nick picked Alice up and spun her around. Mathilda sighed. “You’re right though. It’s not easy. Especially as I take care of little bitty babies and most of them leave before they remember me. They have such an impact on my life, but they will never remember who I am.”

“Would you ever want to adopt one of your own?” Cormoran asked. 

“Oh but I have my own,” Mathilda said, “I have three. And five grandchildren.” Cormoran looked at her sideways. She looked too young to be a grandmother. He would have guessed her to be only a few years older than him. 

“I had me first at fifteen,” she explained, “Couldn’t keep her, so I put her into care. She got back in touch when she was around three, and her adopted mum let us have a relationship. I suppose that’s why I do this, yeah? Making up for it.” She drummed her fingers against the porch railing. “So no. I have no desire to keep them after they’ve found a family. There’s mums and dads out there who want a baby so much more than me. It would be selfish of me to deprive them of that.”

“How did Alice come into your care?” Cormoran asked.

“Oh, she was just a wee little thing, they estimated four months old. She was left at the emergency room with a high fever, caused from Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome. They don’t know who left her there. They suspect she was homeless, as she showed signs of exposure. The fever gave her a severe ear infection, which is why she’s got the hearing aid.”

“Nobody has tried to contact you since?” Amani chimed in, “No parents or previous guardians?”

If it wasn’t for the years of training and experience, Cormoran would have missed it. The barely-discernible flinch, the guardedness behind the eyes.

“No,” Mathilda said, “No, nothin like that.”

“Are you sure? Nobody trying to get back in touch?” Cormoran leaned in, trying to look as open and approachable as he could. Mathilda’s eyes darted to the floor.

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Amani reassured her, “Nick and Ilsa love the girl. They wouldn’t care. Look at them.”

They glanced over at where Alice was riding on Ilsa’s back like a horse. Mathilda smiled.

“Nobody has contacted me,” she said, “But there are… drawings.”

“Drawings?” Cormoran asked.

“Sometimes. In the mail. There are drawings and paintings of birds and animals and such. They’re never addressed, but… I think they’re meant for her.” She gave a little shake of the head and chuckled. “I suppose it could just be a friendly neighbor. There’s certainly nothin threatening about them.”

“Are there any other parents interested in adopting Alice?” Amani asked

“Oh no,” Mathilda said, quickly, “No, it’s been difficult, actually. She’s quite a lovely child, not prone to tantrums, always smilin. But when the child is special needs it makes things complicated. They’re not sure what long-term consequences her NAS will have yet, but she was a drug baby, which can cause issues later on. So far no parents have been willing to risk it.”

 

“You know who she reminds me of?” Ilsa asked, once they were all back in the car.

“Who?” Cormoran asked.

“You. As a baby.”

Cormoran squinted.

“Nah.”

“Yeah. Not just the hair, either. She’s got a chin like yours.”

“Mm true. I had to grow into my chin.”

“I like her,” Nick said, taking Ilsa’s hand in hers, “I mean, I really like her.”

Ilsa took a deep breath and smiled.

“I like her too.”

“Would you all like to come over tonight?” Ilsa said.

“I’d love to, really, but I actually have other plans tonight,” Robin said. Ilsa noticed the momentary stricken look that passed over Cormoran’s face, almost too fast to be spotted.

“Ah, well, that’s too bad,” Ilsa said, “Cormoran? You want to come by?”

“What? Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Amani?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, and Cormoran?”

“Yeah.”

“She has a birthmark. On her back.”

Cormoran’s jaw dropped.

“So she’s…”

“She’s your girl."


	34. Dates

Robin took Hunter to the Tate Modern for one of their nighttime showings. It was one of her favorite things to do: the museum took on a different energy at night. There was live music and dancing, wine and food, lectures on social issues, tables set up for craft projects. Robin had chosen the place specifically, because it could have the implication of romance with minimal intimacy. They could go and enjoy the art, talk, participate, but they didn’t have to actually touch one another. 

Robin found herself having fun in spite of herself. She had been dreading going out again with Hunter, embarrassed by her previous reaction, anxious that he might try to push it further. But he respected her distance and let her take the initiative, not even holding her hand without waiting for her to make the first move. She was grateful, because she didn’t think she could fake it if he had pushed her. 

She enjoyed being with him. He made her laugh, and had interesting insight into the art on display. They got spicy Indian food at a food truck and drank wine and watched young couples use the giant swings on the first floor. 

“So,” Robin said, “Did you grow up in London?”

“I was born in Paris, actually. My mother was a gymnast there.”

“Hence the childhood interest.”

“Indeed. She gave it up when I was born, so she tried living vicariously through me.”

“Can’t have been easy.”

“That’s one word for it,” he said, “I was the only child, and my dad died when I was young. My mum had grown up in poverty, and wanted something better for me. She could be quite intense.”

“She must be very proud of you,” Robin said.

“It’s complicated.”

“Parental relationships always are.”

“Indeed.” He sipped at his wine. “What about you, are you close with your parents?”

“Yes,” Robin said, then hesitated. “Well, you know. Close enough.”

“Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“Not really. They’re good people. And we’re close. We’ve had our seasons of distance, but now we’re starting to get back to trusting each other again.” She studied her fingernails. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m divorced.”

“I did know that, actually,” Hunter said, “Newell told me. It’s not an issue for me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I knew on the months leading up to our wedding that it was wrong. But I stayed with him, in a large part because my parents had spent so much money on the wedding. They’re still paying it off, two years later.”

“That’s one of the strangest reasons to get married I’ve ever heard,” Hunter said.

“Ah, well. There were other reasons too. I think humans are naturally averse to change and conflict. Women especially, are taught to never make waves.” She shrugged. “I think I blamed my parents a bit for the whole ordeal. And they certainly weren’t happy with my career.”

“Ah. They didn’t like their baby girl fighting off serial killers for a living?”

Robin laughed.

“That was  _ one time _ ,” she said, “But no, they did not care for it. Or for Cormoran. Especially after he crashed my wedding.”

“He did what now?”

“Alright, he didn’t really crash it. He’d been invited. But then he fired me, so he came to my wedding without RSVPing, and then he broke a vase…”

“And you’re saying that this guy isn’t madly in love with you?”

“Please!” Robin laughed slightly too loudly. “We’re partners.” She could feel her smile too wide, her tone too light. “We’re just colleagues. Nothing else.”

***

Nick and Ilsa seemed giddy, high on the sudden appearance of hope after months of hopelessness. They were giggly and bright-eyed, like teenagers on a first date, almost hesitant, aware that it was risky and could disappear in seconds. Ilsa was trying not to get her hopes up, Cormoran could tell, but she couldn’t help herself, and she kept on saying “Did you see how small her little hands were?” “Did you see the way she loved kicking the ball around?” She spoke shyly, embarrassed by her excitement. 

After dinner they reclined in the living room with plates of cheesecake. Nick held Ilsa’s hand, and tucked her hair behind her ear. Cormoran felt like he was intruding on some sort of magic, like he was unworthy of bearing witness to something so fragile and precious. He felt beatified.

“You might not know this,” he said, “But Amani and I used to know each other. Thirty-three years ago.”

“ _ Thirty-three _ ?” Amani exclaimed, “Christ, when did we get so old?”

“Slowly and then all at once.” Ilsa said.

“I heard about your mum,” Amani said to Cormoran, “I’m sorry. Leda was good to me.”

Normally Cormoran flinched back when people mentioned his mother, but somehow in Amani’s mouth Leda’s name was safe. 

“She liked you,” Cormoran said.

“She did. I didn’t have any women in my life at the time. Leda helped me embrace my feminine side.”

Cormoran remembered that Amani had lived with her father next door, but he couldn’t remember ever meeting the man. They had never been to her flat as children, she had always come to theirs. 

“I remember her dressing you and Lucy up and doing a runway show down the hall,” Cormoran said.

“She had so many great fur coats. She’s the one who taught me how to put on makeup.”

“Me too,” Cormoran said, grinning. Amani laughed, then looked at him over her glass.

“Are you married?” she asked. Nick and Ilsa exchanged a covert glance.

“God no. You?”

“Divorced.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a friendly split. And I have a son. Matthias. He’s seventeen now, and in University. He’s studying computer science.” Her glow of pride could have lit a city block.

“Jesus. Seventeen. Time flies.” 

“Yes, well, I was young when I had him.”

“You must be very proud of him,” Nick said, “He’ll go far with Computer Science.”

“I am very proud.” She smiled at Cormoran. “You have any kids, Cormoran?”

“No, The job makes it inconvenient.”

“The business is your baby.”

“I like the sound of that. Yes.”

  
  


Cormoran walked with Amani to the train station. 

“It was good to see you,” he said.

“It was.” She chuckled at their reflections in a passing shop window. “Look at us both here,” she said, “Who would have thought that thirty three years later I’d be an attorney and you’d be a successful private eye.”

Cormoran snorted.

“I wouldn’t go so far as successful,” he said, “You should see my flat. It’s barely a bedsit.”

She turned and looked at him with narrowed eyes and half a smile on her purple lips. 

“I’d like to, actually,” she said. 

“Like to what?”

“I’d like to see your flat.” 

Cormoran raised his eyebrows.

“Tonight?” he said.

“If you don’t have any other plans.”

Cormoran grinned. 

“I’m all yours.”

 

Two hours later, Cormoran and Amani laid in his bed in a warm half-asleep haze. He had never had a woman come to his flat before, not even Lorelei. But Amani knew his origins, and as such she could understand him in a way that nobody else could. Cormoran traced the line of her hip in the dark. He liked the two dimples on her lower back. 

“Listen, Cormoran,” she said. There was a sadness in her voice that stilled his hand. “I should have told you this before, but…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m…” She sighed. “Well, I’m in love with someone else.”

Cormoran considered this. 

“Alright,” he said.

“My ex husband. He’s gay.”

“Ah.”

“I know I should move on, and I’ve tried, but no matter who I’m with, there’s always gonna be him. He’s the only one who really has my heart.”

“Okay.”

“So if you want… whatever it is you want here… Just know that.” Her shoulder blades were tense. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

“It’s okay.” He exhaled slow. “I… I know how that feels.”

“Mm. She also gay?”

Cormoran snorted. 

“Nah.”

“Married?”

“Not anymore. No. She’s just.” He waved his hands around vaguely. “Unobtainable.”

“Robin?”

“Yeah.”

“Hm.” Amani rolled over to face Cormoran in bed, her smile gleaming in the dark. “I have to say, your performance  _ en boudoir  _ would make a lot of unobtainable women suddenly very obtainable.”

“That good, huh?”

“You have great talent, Mister Strike.”

“It’s my job to observe people. I’m good at reading what someone wants.”

“You’re a true artist.”

“I had an excellent muse,” Cormoran said. He took her hand. “You were also... exemplary.”

“Why thank you.”

“I’m sorry about your ex.”

“Don’t be. I love my life. I’m not lonely.” 

“Still hurts, though,” he said.

Amani sighed. 

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

 

_ Dear Baby Bunny, _

_ Whenever I would do something stupid as a child, like wander off into a crowd or blurt something out at the wrong time, Abas would shake me and say “Do you ever even _ think _?” The answer to that was yes, of course. It was precisely my thinking that caused me to keep pouring the milk after the glass was overflowing, or to bathe before checking to see if I was alone. I was thinking too much. I was thinking about heaven, about softball, about whether or not snakes dream. Even when I slept my brain didn’t stop. It churned out stories too strange to remember: giant purple cats, and demons, and being shot in the face very slowly. _

_ None of that thinking could ever compare to how much I thought during my months of pregnancy. While pregnant they gave me a half-dose of vitamins, just enough to keep me going. Going without the drugs felt like a sudden curtain had been opened in my mind, a curtain that had been kept shut for years. Suddenly the light was pouring in again and I could see clearly. I thought so hard during those nine months I wondered that my brain didn’t emit chugging and whirring noises. This time, though, my thoughts did not transport me out of my surroundings the way they had as a child. Instead it planted me more firmly in them. I noticed everything: what time Jacob came and went, what he wore each time, what he smelled like, what he said. Which of my clients was more nervous? Could any of them be trusted? Which could be overpowered? At first I did it subconsciously, barely even noticing that I was looking for anything, not willing to risk even thinking about the potential of an escape.  _

_ I started forming a plan in my mind, although it wouldn’t be easy. I didn’t know exactly how well it would work. And it would mean trusting a lot of people much more than I had ever trusted anybody before.  _

_ The first step was contacting Musa. I had only written him the one time, because it was too risky. But now it was worth it. I went through the same routine as before: eyeliner on underwear, wrapped in a shower cap, stuffed up a pipe as far as it would go. I was intentional this time, and I clogged every pipe I could find. I wanted to be positive that he would find it.  _

_ هل يمكنك تهريب طفل؟ _

Can you smuggle out a baby?

_ He came in later that afternoon, and I was waiting for him when he left the bathroom, watching. He knew as soon as he saw me. I was so skinny, you couldn’t much hide it. He saw me and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Then he was gone.  _

 

_ I lived on that nod for a week. It sustained me. But soon it started wearing thin. A nod can only keep you going for so long. What if he hadn’t gotten my note? What if it was a nod of hello instead of affirmation? Why was I pinning all of my hopes on a man who had clearly worked his way into Elizabeth’s trust? _

_ It took another week for one of the sinks to start spraying in every direction, and a plumber was called in again. I was waiting for him, watching as he came in. This one wasn’t Musa, but as soon as he saw me he held up two crossed fingers: on the Serpent that had been the sign for “trust”.  _

_ The plumber was in there for a long time, and when he came out he was damp and sweating. He left without looking at me. _

_ It took a lot of searching to find his message. It wasn’t in any of the sinks, or the showers. Finally I found it, written on a long sheet of paper and rolled into a PVC pipe that was placed in the tank of the toilet. When I opened it, a small bundle fell out as well. I stuffed it down my pants and waited until I was in my room that night to open it. _

“Here’s how we will do it:

The basement of this building was built unusually close to the open sewer. I know a woman, an artist. She’s white, but she speaks Pashto, and she lives in the sewers. She will take your baby. When you are ready, flush this bundle down the toilet. Then wrap the baby up tight and give it to me. The bundle has an explosive, which will make a hole in the floor. The hole will expose a large pipe, nine inches in diameter, too small for us but the right size for an infant. The pipe leads right down to a minor sewer line. It’s like a small stream, not so large that she’ll get lost or overturned, but not so small that she’ll get stuck. My friend will be waiting there on the other side to catch her. I rigged up a harness, so I’ll have a hold on her until my friend takes her.

\--M”

_ The plan seemed utterly ridiculous to me. I almost laughed. I would be essentially flushing my child down the toilet. But when I shared it with Adara that night she was pensive.  _

_ “You can’t honestly be considering this,” I said. _

_ “It’s what they did with Moses, and look at him,” Adara said. I rolled my eyes. _

_ “They floated Moses down the Euphrates, not down a toilet like a piece of literal shit.” _

_ Adara tisked at my language. _

_ “So what’s your better idea?” she asked, “Watch Elizabeth turn it into her own little robot?” _

 

_ You didn’t move until the sixth month, which I’ve since learned is a bit unusual. You were just patient, relaxed. I think you were so focused on growing, you didn’t have time to move.  _

_ As you grew, I got bigger too, and soon I couldn’t dance anymore. Occasionally they would have me go upstairs for the rare fetish client, but otherwise I just sat around and thought.  _

_ I shared a room with Callisto on my sixth month. I think it was hard for her to see me being pregnant, when she’d had her son taken away. When you first kicked inside of me she put her hand on my belly and felt you rolling around, and she got the strangest look on her face, like she was staring into a world that I couldn’t see.  _

_ We had never spoken about her child before, I only knew about it from other girls’ gossip. That night, sitting in the dark, Callisto broke the silence. _

_ “I had one once,” she said, “A little man.” _

_ “I know,” I said. _

_ “I didn’t give him a name. We just called him Little Bear.” _

_ I let that hang in the air for a moment. Then I asked, _

_ “How long did they let you keep him?” _

_ Callisto sighed from the depths of her soul. _

_ “Two months.” _

_ “Why do they allow it to happen?” I asked, “I mean, I’m not making them any money in my current state. I’m just a drain on their resources.” _

_ “Someday the baby will be a good worker, either for Elizabeth or her brother,” Callisto said. I knew that I would kill you with my own two hands before I let that happen, but I still wasn’t satisfied with the answer. _

_ “Yes, but until then they have to feed it, clothe it, raise it,” I said, “It’s not out of sympathy. We both know they’ve done crueler things than forced abortions.” _

_ “They like starting us young. Indoctrinate them early and they’ll follow you anywhere. The perfect little slave.” _

_ “We already are the perfect little slaves. They have that method down pat.” _

_ “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’re docile because of drugs. Drugs are expensive.” She rolled over to face me. “Have you ever noticed that I don’t take the vitamins?” _

_ “What?”  _

_ “I don’t need to. I stay because I want to.” _

_ “What the hell are you talking about? Why would you want to stay here?” _

_ “Because they have my son. Somewhere. I don’t know where. Sometimes Ruby will tell me about him. She says that he’s being treated well, right now. But any act of rebellion from me and he’ll be sold for parts like a used car.”  _

_ So I kept the little bundle hidden under the mattress, and I waited. _

_ I am still waiting, _

_ Mummy _


	35. The Mole Woman

Barclay arrived on Monday caffeinated and ready to go. His energy was contagious, and Robin and Cormoran found themselves sitting up straighter and feeling more awake than they had in weeks.

“This girl, who works in the sewers,” Barclay said, tapping the manuscript, “She sounds like The Worm Woman.” 

Cormoran snorted.

“God, you’re right. The Worm Woman. I haven’t heard that one in a long time.”

“Who’s The Worm Woman?” Robin asked.

“She’s an urban legend in the London military community,” Cormoran said.

“She’s not a legend,” Barclay said, “At least not a false one. She’s real.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Come on, what’s not to believe?”

“All of it. Who would live in the tunnels? This isn’t some Neil Gaiman novel.” 

Barclay looked delighted.

“What do you know about Neil Gaiman? Is Cormoran Strike secretly a fantasy nerd?”

“My nephew is reading it, okay, fuck off.”

“Can somebody  _ please _ tell me who The Worm Woman is?” Robin asked. 

Cormoran sighed and turned to her.

“According to the military chat rooms, she’s an incredibly talented artist, but she only does her art in abandoned subway tunnels and sewer ducts, where nobody can see it. Apparently she was an explosives expert in Fallujah before PTSD rendered her unfit for service. She can’t handle the real world, so she lives in the sewers where she paints in order to cope. But then, rumor also has it that she wears only rat skins and eats cockroaches. So who really knows.”

“I’ve been down there,” Barclay argued, “I’ve seen it.”

“Why the hell were you in the sewers?” Cormoran asked. Barclay shrugged.

“Not in the sewers, in the abandoned Underground station. There was a rave down there once,” he said. 

Cormoran rolled his eyes.

“Of course.”

“And you think she’s real?” Robin asked.

“Aye. I saw her art. And I know a man who worked with her in Fallujah.”

“What’s her name?” Robin asked.

“Corporal Rivin. Don’t know her first name.”

“Do you think we could find her?” Robin asked. Cormoran rolled his eyes.

“She’s not real,” Cormoran repeated.

“I wouldn’t know how to begin,” Barclay said, ignoring Cormoran, “But ye know who might?”

Robin and Cormoran shared a glance. 

“No,” Cormoran said, “No, no, we’re not.”

“Why not?” Barclay asked, “If anyone has intimate knowledge of the sewer system it’s Shanker.”

“Shanker has been off the grid since August,” Cormoran said, “I’m not going to pull him back into London crime life just to follow a hunch about a woman who may or may not even exist.”

“You don’t have to drag him back into anything,” Robin said, “Just ask him if he knows about her.”

Cormoran heaved a heavy sigh.

“Fine.  _ Fine _ . Next time we check in, I’ll ask if he’s ever heard of her.”

Robin’s smile almost made it worth it.

Cormoran called Shanker that night. Shanker had gotten on the wrong side of Alyssa’s ex, who had fired a few retaliatory gunshots through their window. It was considered best for all involved if Shanker, Alyssa, and the girls all took an extended holiday to Bromley, where Lucy was helping them stay hidden in a hotel. 

“Bunsen,” Shanker growled in greeting.

“Shanker. How’s it going?”

“Boring. At this point I’d almost prefer getting shot.”

“I doubt Alyssa would go for that.”

“Yeah. She’s loving it out here.”

“And the girls?”

“The girls are good. They go over to Goose’s house for tutoring, so’s they don’t fall behind on schoolwork. Of course they’re immediate best friends with her boys.”

Cormoran barked out a laugh.

“I bet Greg loves that.”

“Ha! Goose told him that Lyssa is a friend from work. He doesn’t know about me or he’d never agree to it.” Cormoran could hear Shanker taking a long drag on a cigarette and felt a deep craving for a smoke surge up in his veins. “Anyways,” Shanker went on, “I know this isn’t a social call. Why are you calling? They caught Lyssa’s ex yet?”

“Not yet. I’m calling for a bit of a selfish purpose, I’m afraid.”

“Help with a case? Good, I’m dying of boredom, I’ll get on the next train over.”

“Shanker, no, stay where you are. I just need to ask you about somebody,” Cormoran said. Shanker groaned. Cormoran ignore this. “How well do you know the sewer system?”

“Like the back of my hand,” Shanker said, “I’d be hiding out there now if I didn’t have Lyssa and the girls.”

“What do you know about the urban legend of The Worm Woman?”

“Ah. Beverly.”

Cormoran raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“ _ Beverly _ ?”

“You’re talking about the artist? The one what lives in the sewers?”

“You  _ know _ her?”

“I know her art. I seen her once, asked her name. She said Beverly, then ran away. She’s skittish.”

“How do we find her?”

“First of all, not you, Robin. It’s slippery down in the sewers, and you have to climb a lot of ladders and wall staples.” 

“Robin’s not going to wander the sewers alone at night.”

“You’re right. I’ll take her there.”

“No you won’t. You stay in Bromley.”

“I’ll meet her at her flat at midnight tomorrow night. Tell her to wear her wellies. And bring a flashlight.”

“Shanker-”

Shanker hung up. 

Cormoran cursed under his breath, then called Robin.

“Hello,” Robin said. 

“Hey, Robin, are you free tomorrow night?”

“Nothing I can’t cancel, why?”

“Shanker is going to take you to meet the Worm Woman.”

Robin tried to stifle her excited gasp.

“She’s _ real _ ?”

“Apparently. And her name is Beverly.”

Robin barked out a laugh.

“Somehow she’s much more believable as the Worm Woman than as Beverly,” she said.

“Right? Anyways, Shanker has a target on his back, so I told him to stay in Bromley, but…”

“But you might as well staple water to a tree.”

“Exactly. He said that he would come by your flat at midnight, and to bring waterproof clothing and a flashlight.”

“Excellent!” Robin said, “Wait… How does he know my address? Did you give it to him?”

“God no.”

“Creepy.”

Alone in their separate flats, they both sat quietly for a moment, listening to the rain pounding on the windows outside, neither one ready to hang up yet.

“I still find it hard to believe that the Worm Woman is real,” Cormoran said.

“If she is, what does that mean for the story?”

“She could verify more parts of it. The existence of the baby, for example.”

“She’s an artist… Do you think she’s been the one leaving the paintings with Mathilda and Alice?”

“God, you’re right. Which would mean that she knew where Alice lived.”

“Hopefully we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“Right.” Cormoran sighed heavily. “Stay safe down there. Be careful.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I can take care of myself.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about. Your mum would kill me if you were murdered by an insane sewer-dweller.”

Robin smiled.

“Always with the compliments, you.”

 

_ Happy Birthday, baby bunny. _

_ I believe you were born on the fifth of April, but it’s blurry. I woke up and knew that it was going to happen that day. I could feel you getting ready for it. I’d been having false contractions for a couple of days, and the doctor had been monitoring me.  _

_ My water broke in the shower, and all of the girls froze, nobody knowing what to do. It was Ji, God bless her, who took my hands and led me back into my room. She told all of the other girls that I needed my privacy and if they put one step through the door so help her she’d “stick a pepper so far up their ass they would be shitting spices for a month”. The doctor was called, but he was unavailable, so they called Jacob, believing that because he’d been to medical school he could help. He may have gone to medical school, but he knew less about childbirth than Baby Aquila. He gave me several pills for the pain, then stood in the corner hyperventilating while the girls did all the work. It’s funny how he would see so much cruelty, so much gore, and yet the natural act of childbirth sent him completely over the edge. _

_ The pills made me fuzzy, and things float in and out of my memory. I remember sitting between Ji’s legs and gripping her hands. I remember screaming at her to kill me, kill me, kill me now, just get it done, and then I couldn’t make any words at all, just screaming, and then there wasn’t even sound, there wasn’t breath. Then Adara, shy, innocent Adara, slapped me hard in the face and yelled “BREATHE MOTHERFUCKER!”.  _

_ Everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at her, and everybody looked so stupid and shocked that I started to laugh, and right in the middle of that laugh something moved and your head slid right out of me. I want you to know that. I want you to remember that you were born into a place with laughter, and joy.  _

 

_ I know that every mother thinks that her baby is beautiful, but I swear, Anastacia, you were perfect. You had eyes like diving into the lake, brown with bits of green when the light hit. Your hair was red, and your skin was lighter than mine. None of your potential fathers have red hair, so that doesn’t answer that mystery at all. You had a little red birthmark on the small of your back, and fine little hairs on your shoulders that glowed in the light. I couldn’t stop looking at you. None of us could. We just sat around and stared. _

 

_ The next week I was sent to Plastic to get fixed up. I cried the whole time you were out of my sight. I think I cried more than you did those first few weeks.  _

_ Callisto was right. As soon as you were born, my love for you rendered me completely vulnerable. I would do anything for you. I would stay in the Haute and Taut forever if it meant that you would be safe.  _

_ But being a mother also made me strong. I had a life greater than my own. I would do anything for you, which meant that suddenly I could do anything. My only fear was for your safety, which meant that nothing else could scare me. As long as you were safe, I was impenetrable. _

_ I will fight for you, always, _

_ Mummy _

 

_Dear Bunny,_

_ I knew that they would want me back working within a month, and I would have to get you out as soon as possible. But lord, you were so small. You couldn’t even lift your head.  _

_ I waited four weeks. Then I wrapped you up in a blanket, then wrapped that blanket in a plastic bag. I knew that babies and plastic bags didn’t usually end well, but I didn’t want you getting damp. I cut a hole for your face, at least. Then I took the explosives that Musa had given me, and I flushed them down the toilet. Within two minutes the pipes had burst and the sewage was spouting up to six feet high. Within five minutes it covered the floor two inches deep.  _

_ I knew I wouldn’t be able to hand you over to Musa directly. Musa and I were never allowed to speak to each other. So Adara and I took you and placed you carefully in the bathroom garbage bin, soft on a pile of paper towels. I said “Mummy loves you. Never ever forget that.” _

_ You looked up at me and smiled, a real joyful toothless smile, a smile like the sunrise. _

_ Adara had to pry you out of my hands. I guess Ji came in and half-dragged, half-carried me back to the suite. I don’t remember that part. I don’t remember anything. I can only recount what happened afterwards because the girls have told me so many times. I was numb, I was like a puppet. I curled up in bed and didn’t speak. _

_ The girls told me that Musa came into the bathroom. They say that he barred the bathroom door from the inside, so that none of the Recruiters could stop him. He pressure-washed the drain pipe, so that it would be clean enough. He tucked you into a little basin-boat he’d made out of a piece of piping, and attached bungees to each end. Then he lowered you down, down, down, under our feet, under the foundation of the club, down to your freedom.  _

_ The recruiters found out, of course. We were under constant surveillance, they knew what he had done. They knocked the door in and hauled him out, but it was too late, you were gone. We all watched from the hallway as they dragged him away. Before he disappeared, he met my eye and nodded. It had worked.  _

_ I don’t know what happened to Musa, but I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.  _

 

_ I will not tell you about my punishment for letting you go. It doesn’t matter. Don’t think about it. I bore it, and I would bear it again, gladly, for you.  _

_ You were free, and at first that was enough for me. Knowing that you were safe and happy, I was content to stay where I was.  _

_ Then I wasn’t. It was like an itch, my longing for you, and that itch grew until it was a physical pain, and that pain grew until I felt torn in half. So I started to plan again. _

_ I love you forever, _

_ Mummy _


	36. The Sewers

Shanker called Robin at 12:00 sharp, and she ran out to his car. She was ready in dark clothes, and a backpack holding two flashlights, her camera, and several snacks. She slid into the passenger seat and greeted Shanker with a rib-splitting hug.

“Oh Shanker, it’s been too long.”

“It has been.” He peeled out from in front of her flat with a squeal of tires. In her years of knowing him, Robin had learned that Shanker was incapable of all driving except for getaway driving, and went everywhere like he was in a high-speed chase.

“Is it safe for you to be back here?” Robin asked, “What about Alyssa’s ex?”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ve survived a lot worse than him. I’m really only in hiding to protect Alyssa and the girls.”

“How are they?”

“They’re good. They all say hello. The girls miss you.” His voice had taken on a softer tone since she had seen him last. “You would not believe how big Angel has gotten.”

“Look at you, all dad-ish,” she said.

Shanker barked out a laugh.

“I’m no dad.” 

“No? What are you then?” She grinned. “Uncle Shanker?”

“That makes me sound like a pervert. No, they call me…” He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed. “They call me Seamus.”

“Seamus? Why…” Robin’s jaw dropped. “Is that your real name?”

“Yeah.”

“They call you by your real name! That’s so cute!”

“Shaddap. Here we are.”

Shanker pulled over and they got out. He pulled a head lamp and a large crowbar out of the back seat, and they started their way down the street. After about half a block, he stopped, pointing to a manhole cover.

“This is it,” he said.

“You’re sure?” Robin asked.

“One hundred percent.”

“Are we being incredibly stupid?”

He grinned up at her, his gold tooth glinting in the street lamp.

“One hundred percent.”

Shanker took the crowbar out of his backpack and heaved the cover off of the manhole. A cloud of damp air enveloped them, along with a heavy smell of mildew. 

“There’s a ladder leading down,” Shanker said, sliding into the hole, “Be careful, it’s slippery.” Robin hesitated before following him.

She half expected the air to fill with sirens and flashing lights as soon as her feet touched the brick walkway of the tunnel, but it was silent and dark.

“This city really doesn’t protect its water, does it,” she said, “Anybody could waltz on in here.”

“Who would want to? This is just a storm drain. The only thing down here is trash.”

Robin shrank deeper into her parka and blew hot breath up onto her face. There was a thin ledge along the side of the storm drain, with grimy water rushing by below them. They picked their way along, gripping the railing tightly. Their torch beams flashed off walls covered in graffiti: tags and bombs, gang signs, names. 

“This place is full of graffiti. How do we know which one is hers?” Robin asked.

“Oh you’ll know. There’s nothing quite like it.” 

Their footsteps echoed off the round walls of the tunnel, and water dripped down on them from overhead. Even with her warm waterproof clothes, the damp shot right through her and froze in her bones. In some places the drain had flooded, and they had to walk through water up to their knees. She could hear rats skittering around in the dark. Robin understood why Cormoran didn’t believe in the Worm Woman. She couldn’t imagine a more miserable place to live. Then they turned a corner and Robin stopped in her tracks. 

Shanker had been correct about the art. There was nothing like it. An enormous skull, taller than Robin, being consumed in flame. It wasn’t the cartoonish graffiti style that Robin was used to; this one was loose and sloppy, emotional, the paint cheap and dripping down the wall. 

“It’s beautiful,” Robin said.

“She’s a master.”

They kept moving, and the paintings showed up with more frequency. A teenager in a hoodie with glowing eyes. A woman with an exposed rib cage. A 1950s-style perfect family, smiling as flames flew around them. As they progressed deeper into the sewers, a new figure emerged: the figure of a baby. The painted baby was tightly wrapped in a pink blanket, with a tuft of red hair. She was the one figure who wasn’t being destroyed somehow; all of the other paintings were either on fire or missing limbs or being torn to pieces. The infant was the only peaceful image. The infant was Alice.

They wandered around the tunnels for three hours, following the paintings to no result. There was no sign of another living soul. Finally, around 3:30, they gave up and climbed back up to the street, now about a mile from where they started.

Robin took the train home while Shanker made his way back to the car on foot. She looked down at her phone, which had been out of range under ground. She had several texts from Cormoran.

_ “Stay safe.” _

_ “Call me when you get out, doesn’t matter how late.” _

_ “Don’t take the train home, go with Shanker or take a cab.” _

Robin rolled her eyes with a tired smile and called Cormoran.

“Mrrm hullo? Robin? That you?”

“Yes, I’m safe.” 

She could hear Cormoran yawn and roll over. The thought of him in bed sent a warm shiver down her spine.

“Good. Good. You taking a cab?”

“Couldn’t get one this late. I’m fine. Almost home.” 

“Robin…”

“Save it for the morning. We’re both too tired to argue right now.”

“Mm.” He scratched his head. “So the Worm Woman. She real?”

“Yes. We didn’t see her, but we saw her paintings. She kept on painting a baby who looks an awful lot like Alice.”

“Don’t all babies look more or less the same?”

“Ye of little faith.”

Cormoran chuckled.

“Alright,” he said, “Let’s go with it. So the Mole Woman is real. Her name is Beverly Rivin. She paints babies.”

“Yes. Who we presume to be Alice but we don’t entirely know.”

“If we’re assuming that the story is true, and we’re assuming that this woman is the woman from the story, that means that we can assume she had Sian’s baby once, but then gave it away.”

“That is a lot of assumptions, isn’t it,” Robin admitted.

“What if she wanted the baby back?” Cormoran asked.

“What?”

“What if she took the baby from Sian, and then wanted it back?”

“You mean the Worm Woman might have killed Sian in an attempt to kidnap Alice?”

“Yeah. She does have the military training to fake a death. And now she might be after Mathilda.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Robin said, “But if that’s the case, why wait? She knows where they live. She could just kill Mathilda and take off with the baby. The house is hardly a fortress.”

“It is thin,” Cormoran said, “But worth thinking over.”

“Worth finding her.”

“Yeah.” Cormoran yawned again. “Something to discuss in the morning.”

 

_ Dear Bunny, _

_ I started dancing again, and seeing clients. They put me back on a full dosage of drugs, but I fought through it, trying to keep my mind clear. I was glad to be dancing again, as the exercise cleared my head somewhat. Meeting with clients was just as hellish as ever.  _

_ There was one client we called Fatty, because he weighed almost four hundred pounds. Fatty doesn’t know it, but he was instrumental in my planning. Fatty was the warden of the local prison, and he liked to talk. He liked to brag about the criminals he had locked up, like they were collectors items. Serial killers, cannibals, torturers. He spoke about them with a level of admiration in his voice, like he wished he could be as bold as them. It wasn’t hard to gently turn the conversation towards prison breaks.  _

_ “Nobody has ever escaped from my prison, no ma’am,” he said, “My prison is impenetrable. It’s on a ship, for one. Where would they go? They’re in space.” He chuckled to himself. “One kid tried. Got pretty close.” _

_ “What happened?” _

_ “He was a worker in the machine room. Got hold of some gasoline. He ran up and down the halls, then set the whole place on fire. His plan had initially been to escape in the fire ship but he’d accidentally dosed himself too. Burned up.” _

_ I decided to test my luck further. _

_ “Have you ever heard of a successful escape?” I asked, “Perhaps at the Fortuna Prison?” _

_ Fatty hated the Fortuna Prison. Their warden was a woman, which Fatty didn’t like to begin with, and she was a major proponent of prison reform, which Fatty saw as pure heresy.  _

_ “Ha! Yes. The Fortuna has had two. Two! That’s what happens when you put a chick in charge.” _

_ “Isn’t an escape impossible?” _

_ “It always seems impossible, sweetheart, until it’s done.”  _

_ “What happened?” _

_ “Mm. The first time time a guy switched uniforms with a sympathetic guard and got out that way.” He scoffed. “A sympathetic guard. In the Aphrodite Prison we don’t have sympathetic guards. That’s our strategy.” _

_ “And then she let someone escape again?” _

_ “Ha! Yeah. They had mattresses there, can you believe it? Mattresses! Easy fucking living. My guys don’t even have beds. Anyways, this guy gets sick, vomits the bed, tells the guard he needs a new mattress. Now if I was in charge I’d say ‘rub your fuckin nose in it ya little queer.’ But of course this chick, dainty as you please, offers to give him a new mattress. So he then stitched himself into his own mattress and was carried out to the dump inside of it.” _

_ “What happened then?” _

_ “Well the dump is outside of the bubble. He was immediately crushed by the Venus atmosphere. When they found the body it was the size of a tin can.” _

_ In spite of this disturbing image, the idea stuck with me.  _

 

_ The next day we rotated rooms and I was back with Adara. I told her my plan that night. _

_ “How thick is the mattress?” she asked. I reached down to measure it.  _

_ “About as deep as my forearm.” _

_ “You could fit in there, no problem.” _

_ “The problem is doing it without being noticed, and getting the mattresses removed,” I said. _

_ “We switched rooms yesterday, so you have about a month before we switch again. We don’t have much time.” _

_ “How would I get inside the mattress?” _

_ “A knife?” _

_ “I’d have to make one.” _

_ “You could put the stuffing inside the duvet.” _

_ “This all has to happen at night, in the dark. And we can’t tell anybody. You don’t know who might turn me over for an extra meal.” _

_ “Then there’s actually getting the mattress out. We both know Elizabeth wouldn’t buy that ‘vomit on the mattress’ bullshit.” _

_ I smiled. _

_ “But what does Elizabeth fear more than anything?” I asked. Adara contemplated this. _

_ “STDs.” _

_ “Exactly.” _

_ We talked it over through the night, plotting it out, discussing various risks. We didn’t mention the fact that if it worked I’d be leaving her. We didn’t mention how much that would hurt. _

 

_ To start I needed to put across the image. I spent the first week curled up against the wall, wrapped in my duvet, refusing to do anything. They had to feed me through a tube, and hold me up to shower. I grew skeletally thin. My hair began to fall out. They gave me more vitamins, so many that my skin starting feeling sparkly and my hands trembled. After that I started eating and dancing again, but I still spent every other moment huddled in my corner. _

_ Then we needed to empty out a mattress. This was not an easy task. After one girl cut her wrists five years earlier, all sharp objects were confiscated. We waxed our body hair instead of shaving, and we ate with our hands. The sharpest things we had were our stiletto heels. So that’s what I used. I took my shoe and scraped the six-inch heel against the cement wall of our bedroom until it was filed into a point. It wasn’t difficult, as the heel was thin to begin with, and it didn’t need to be too sharp. I didn’t need to use it to kill anybody, just to tear fabric. It took about a week and then I had a passable knife. _

_ It was hard plastic, not very sharp, so it took a good deal of sawing to open up the mattress. I did that at night, under the blankets. The mattress was high quality, so I had to saw through two layers of memory foam and one layer of hard supportive foam before getting to the springs, where I would lie. It took another week, working at it as much as I could. Finally I had a hole big enough to squeeze into. I pulled out a good amount of stuffing, which I hid inside my duvet.  _

_ Next I had to find bedbugs. Elizabeth made every effort to keep the Haute and Taut classy, which meant that our surroundings were always the highest style and spotlessly clean. We were not supposed to be real. We were breathing illusions, perfect in every way and untouched by the outside world. One single flea could ruin that illusion, so an infestation of bedbugs would be both a disaster and an impossibility.  _

_ After giving it a lot of thought, I decided that of all my clients I trusted Baby Auggie the most, and it was Auggie who I went to for help in this matter. I didn’t tell him the real reason why, of course. I told him that my mattress was uncomfortable but the only way to get a new one was if I got bed bugs. He thought that was funny. _

_ “When have you last been outside?” he said, “The Bubble doesn’t have bedbugs. They can’t survive in the artificial environment.” He might as well have punched me solid in the stomach. Then he said, “There’s an equivalent, though. I volunteer in the projects. There’s this little burrowing mite, I think it’s a mutation of scabies. It spreads incredibly fast. Within a day it will spread throughout the entire building.” _

_ Of course he volunteered in the projects. Good philanthropist that he was. _

_ Two days later he brought me a small scrap of fabric.  _

_ “You can’t see it,” he said, “but there’s some mites on this little piece. I told the family it belonged to that I needed a piece of their mattress to test it. The bugs are there alright. Just sleep with it at the foot of your bed and you’ll have an infestation by morning.” _

_ I hoped that the other girls would recognize the greater good when I gave them all burrowing mites. _

_ Love love love for three pages long, _

_ Mummy _


	37. The Book of Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you might see some similarities with Ned and some characters I've written in the past. Ned is based on a very lovely friend of mine.

 

Robin returned to the sewers with Barclay the next night, then again by herself the night after that. Then she went back alone on Friday, and then on Sunday. There was something about Beverly Rivin’s art that spoke to her, and called her back again. She liked the dark peace of the storm drains, no phone reception, no distractions, no sound but running water. She knew that Cormoran wouldn’t want her to go down alone at night, so she didn’t tell anybody. She knew it was a long shot that Beverly knew anything pertaining to the case anyways. So she kept it a secret, drinking copious amounts of black coffee to get her through the days. When at work, she followed her own leads and pursued her own investigations. She continued to meet up with Hunter, but she was groggy and had trouble following conversation. Hunter wrote it off to the residual trauma of the car accident.

Cormoran had noticed her exhaustion, and had tried not to think about it. After all, she did have a new man in her life. Sleepless nights could be expected. But the thought of her and her new man make Cormoran feel like a collapsing ice-cap, so he avoided her as much as possible. He took on a new additional case, a standard infidelity that was simple enough, but meant a lot of tailing. They stayed at distant orbit. 

During the day, Robin drifted about like she was in a dream. The Christmas season was starting, and everything up above-ground seemed loud and overly bright. It was at night that she felt like she truly woke up. She found a clarity of mind that came underground, away from the distractions of London. It was silent, dark, pure. Robin occasionally saw signs of life down in the sewers: half-eaten cans of beans that were still warm, paintings that were still wet, fresh footprints in the mud that lined the walkways. But Beverly Rivin remained hidden.

***

Robin stumbled back into the flat at two AM on Wednesday, hoping to sneak in without waking Ned. But Ned was still awake, lying on the living room sofa, blasting The Magnetic Fields with his arms folded over his face. There was a half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, next to an old photo album.

_ “The book of love is long and boring _

_ And written very long ago _

_ It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes _

_ And things we're all too young to know...” _

“Hi Ned,” Robin said. Ned looked up.

“Oh hi. Sorry, I’ll turn the music off.”

“That’s fine, I like Magnetic Fields,” Robin said. Ned turned it off anyways. “Rough night?” Robin asked.

“Mm. Bad anniversary.”

Robin’s mind flashed to the newspaper obituary she had found in Ned’s room.  _ Edward Miller passed away on November the second... _

“You want to talk about it?” she asked.

“I shouldn’t. Once I start I’ll never shut up.”

“I got time,” she said. 

“You really don’t,” Ned said, “It’s two AM.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Fine,” Ned said, “Grab a glass. Have some wine.”

Robin went to the kitchen and got herself a glass, then grabbed a packet of Milanos as well. 

“God, you’re brilliant,” Ned said, “Milanos go so good with wine.” He thought for a moment. “Why has nobody marketed that? We could make a fortune.”

“So,” Robin said, refusing to be distracted, “What’s up with you tonight?”

Ned stuffed two Milanos in his mouth at once and contemplated as he chewed.

“Do your parents love you?” he asked. Robin was a bit startled by the question.

“Well. Yes.”

“That’s good.” 

Ned stared moodily into his glass of wine until Robin wondered if he’d forgotten about her presence completely.

“Was… Was your husband named Edward?” Robin prompted.

“What? No. My husband was named Owen. I’m Edward.”

“ _ You’re _ Edward Miller?”

It was like she had doused Ned in ice at the sound of the name. He immediately shrank back into himself, growing pale and serious.

“I used to be,” he said, “Miller was my maiden name. Nobody has called me that since I was seventeen. Why, where did you hear that?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I wasn’t snooping, I was looking for the Paracetamol, and the obituary fell to the floor, and...” Robin looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” He sighed. “That wasn’t my husband’s obituary. That was mine.” 

“Your… What?”

“Did you see the dates? 1974-1990. 1990 was the year I came out as gay.” Robin’s confusion didn’t subside. Ned rubbed the back of his head. “I was seventeen. Madly in love with my roommate. I told my family that we were dating the day before I returned to school. Today, twenty-four years ago. My parents sat there and listened. Then I went back to boarding school. A week later, my father sent me that newspaper clipping in the mail. He told all his friends, all the family, that I’d died in a car crash. He’d rather have no son than a gay son, I guess. He hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Jesus.” Robin felt like she’d had the air knocked out of her. “You were only seventeen… What did you do?”

“I finished out the term, then I moved to Paris, where I studied acting. That’s where I met Owen.” He pointed to the photo album. There was a photograph of a young Ned, barely out of his teens, feeding cake to a very handsome boy only slightly older than himself. “That’s Owen and me on the day of our commitment ceremony. He died last year. Right before gay marriage was legalized.”

“I’m sorry.” Robin turned the page. There was a photograph of Ned and Owen both singing into a microphone and playing guitar. “Was he an actor too?”

“No, a teacher. But we sang together a lot, just for fun. That Magnetic Fields song,  _ The Book of Love _ , that was our song.” He tapped his fingers on the coffee table. “I haven’t sung at all since he died. I stopped auditioning for musicals. I mostly do Shakespeare now.”

“How long were you two together?”

“Sixteen years. We knew each other for nineteen.”

“Long time.”

“Mm.” He took another biscuit. “There’s a reason Ilsa sent you to me. I’d never lived alone, and the solitude was sending me over the edge. Before you came to live with me, I was with a different guy every week.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“None of those random anonymous men could ever replace what I’d had with Owen, but they were warm bodies that could temporarily help me to forget.” 

“It’s hard,” Robin said, “I’ve been missing that. Physical contact.”

“Have you?”

“Yeah. Matthew as a total wanker, and I don’t miss that. But there’s times, when…” To her horror, she had to fight down a sudden lump in her throat. “I get lonely,” she said, “I mean I was with Matthew for most of my life. I hit puberty, and then I had a boyfriend. These past two years, it’s been difficult. It’s not just that I miss sex; Matthew was never especially good.” Ned smirked. “But it’s the empty bed, nobody to snuggle with, nobody to hold me. I held out this long because I wanted to be a strong, independent woman who don’t need no man. But…” She looked down at her hands. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it until Hunter kissed me, but God, I missed it so bad.” She shrugged. “That’s why I’m with Hunter. I don’t particularly like him. He’s just a warm body.”

“I’m awfully glad you’re my roommate,” Ned said. Robin smiled.

“I’m awfully glad you’re my roommate too.”

  
  


_ Dear Bunny, _

_ Auggie was right. Within two days we all had a horrible rash. The mites left trails on our skin wherever they burrowed, and we were covered in scabs and fine bumpy lines that radiated across our bodies. The girls whined, of course, but I didn’t care.  _

_ On Friday morning we all stood in the inspection line for Elizabeth to weigh and measure us. As usual, I stood in a posture of complete despair, my shoulders slumped, my head down. I glanced up through the curtain of my hair, though, and surveyed the damage I had afflicted upon my sisters. God, the mites had worked well. We looked diseased, itchy and bumpy, unable to stand still for our discomfort. Elizabeth took one look at the group of us and panicked. _

_ “Yuri!” she roared, “What is the meaning of this?” _

_ Yuri was our security bot that day and he jumped like a kicked dog at the tone in her voice.  _

_ “They woke up like that,” he said. _

_ Jacob was immediately brought in to examine us, and he confirmed this story. _

_ “They have Burrowing Mites. Also known as Venetian Miners, as they are native to this planet and they burrow under the skin. They spread through fabric, particularly mattresses.” _

_ One look at Elizabeth’s face and Jacob fell silent.  _

_ “I want a full quarantine,” she said, her voice trembling with rage, “Cancel all the classes. And have all of the bedding removed and destroyed.” _

_ Jacob hung his head. _

_ “Yes ma’am.” _

 

_ We went to our rooms, as ordered. I laid on the bed, covered head to toe in the duvet, which was now bulging with leftover memory foam. Adara was sitting by the door, listening for any news from outside. It was stuffy under the duvet, and my breath seemed very loud.  _

_ “I hear footsteps,” Adara said, “Men’s.” _

_ There was a pounding on the door down the hall, and Yuri's voice calling, _

_ “The men are here for your mattresses!” _

_ This was our time to act. Still under the duvet, I squeezed myself into the hole I had cut in the mattress. Down past the layers of foam, into the springs. The springs were hard and sharp and tore at my skin, but I had bent them out of the way enough that I could lie without causing too much of a bulge. It helped that I was so skinny. Adara took the duvet, which, filled with the stuffing from the mattress, looked like a human wrapped in a blanket. She carried it, miming the heaviness of a human, and laid it facing the wall in the corner, where I usually sat huddled. The mattress was made of good flexible memory foam, and the foam fit back together over me without too much sign of damage.  _

_ “Remember,” she whispered, “Breathe slow.” She then put the sheets back on the mattress to cover the hole. Any close inspection would reveal the whole thing, but it was as good as we could get.  _

_ It was hot in the mattress, and the wires from the springs cut into my skin.  _ Breathe slow. _ Sweat was building on my upper lip, but I didn’t dare move. I heard the door open, and three men came in, Yuri and two others. _

_ “Stand back against the wall,” Yuri said, “Where’s your friend?” _

_ “She’s here in the corner,” Adara said, “She’s sick.” _

Please don’t ask to see my face. Please. _ I wondered if they could hear my heart beating through the mattress. _

_ “Right. Okay boys, take this one.” _

_ I felt myself being lifted into the air, tilted slightly to the left. _

_ “This one is heavy,” one of the men grunted. He had a high-pitched voice, with a Mercurian accent. I could feel mite crawl out of the foam and start inching its way across the sole of my foot. I curled my toes but couldn’t kick it off without moving too much.  _

_ The mattress was set down again, on what I imagined being a rolling cart. They put it upside-down, so that I was on my stomach, facing the hole in the mattress. I gripped onto the springs as hard as I could, praying that I wouldn’t topple out. I heard Yuri moving to the next room, calling for Callisto and Aquila to put their mattresses out. _

_ “These fancy girls with their fancy mattresses,” the other man said. He had a deeper voice, with a Plutonian lilt. “Can you imagine sleeping on something like this? That’s what they get for spreading their legs.”  _

_ The mite bit into my skin and I had to stifle a gasp, my fingers tightening around the springs. _

_ “I’d spread my legs any time if it meant I got to sleep on a mattress like this,” the man from Mercury.  _

_ “Who’d want your hairy ass?” Their voices were now coming from down the hall. _

_ “Your sister.” _

_ The mite was burrowing up under my skin, causing an itch that I could hardly bear. I bit my lip and screwed my eyes tightly shut. _

_ “How many mattresses do we have now?” _

_ “I count fifteen.” _

_ “That’s all of them. Let’s take them up to the truck.” _

_ “And where will they go then?” _

_ “Outside the Bubble to be compressed.” _

_ More tomorrow, _

_ Mummy _


	38. Beverly

It was three AM on December third, and Robin was down in the sewers again. It had been a long night, and she was about to turn back around, discouraged, when she heard a clatter of paint cans. Her heart racing, she carefully crept her way along the walkway, trying to find the direction of the noise that echoed around the tunnels. 

Then there she was, a tall, thin woman with a bandana tied around her face. She was in full camo, painting flames on the wall.

“Beverly?” Robin asked. She’d meant it to be barely over a whisper, but her voice echoed around the tunnel and magnified. The woman jumped. Their eyes met.

“Hey,” Robin said. The woman took off running. “Hey! Beverly!”

The woman was fast, leaping across the ledges, sprinting with the grace and balance of a cat.

“Beverly, wait! We need to talk!” Robin called, moving after the woman as fast as she could. The woman grabbed a ladder and started grappling up the wall like a demon from a horror movie. On a hunch, Robin called out, “I’m here about your baby!”

The woman froze.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Robin said, her hands held out, “I just want you to ask a few questions.”

There was a pause as the woman thought, still hanging on the wall.

“Ask,” she said, finally. Her voice was hoarse and metallic.

“Where did you get the baby?” Robin asked.

The woman started climbing again.

“Wait!” Robin called, “Wait! You don’t have to answer that.” The woman stopped again, higher up now. “You’re not in any trouble. You didn’t do anything wrong.” She took a tentative step closer to the ladder. “Do you know anybody named Sian Carw?”

“No.”

“Do you want some food?” Robin asked, taking two wrapped sandwiched out of her backpack, “I have sandwiches. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Slowly, slowly, the woman began making her way down the ladder. Robin took a step back, setting the sandwiches and the backpack on the ground between them.

“I was hired by a woman named Sian to find her baby,” Robin said, “Sian is dead now. But I’m still trying to find out what happened to the child.”

“How’d you know that baby was here?”

“Sian told me. She said that she gave it to a friend who gave it to you.”

“I didn’t hurt baby.”

“I know. You love that baby, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The woman grabbed a sandwich fast, like it was a trap and Robin might snatch it out of her hand. 

“What kind of sandwich is this?” Beverly asked.

“That one is egg salad.”

“No meat?”

“The other one is BLT, if you prefer meat.”

“Don’t eat meat,” the woman said.

“Your art is really beautiful,” Robin said. The woman jerked her head in acknowledgment, stuffing the sandwich into her mouth. “Do you ever do art that people can, you know, actually see?”

“Used to. Got too worried about what would sell, what people would think. Gallery shows are my vision of hell.”

Robin leaned forward and looked Beverly in the eye.

“Listen, Beverly. If you help me, I will help you get your baby back.” 

The woman shook her head.

“Baby’s better off where she is.”

“I know you leave her paintings,” Robin asked. Beverly shot Robin a hunted look. “It’s okay,” Robin said, “You’re not in any trouble.”

“I kept ‘er for as long as I could. But Baby won’t never be mine. She don’t belong in my world.”

“Where did you find the baby?”

“Down ‘ere.” She spoke between bites, chewing with her mouth open. “I knew a guy. Jafari. ‘E was a plumber, and used to come down to the sewers sometimes. He spoke Pashto. So do I.”

“Who did he work for?”

“Dunno. Didn’t ask.”

“And he told you about the baby?”

“Yeah. He said that he had a friend who had a baby, and the baby needed to escape.”

“Did he tell you why?”

Beverly didn’t answer, distracted by her sandwich.

“What happened then?” Robin pressed.

“I waited, on the day he told me, under Waterloo and Pall Mall. There’s a building there, that was built with a basement lower than most. The floor of the basement is the ceiling to the sewer.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Usually there’s a good amount of earth between them.”

“Interesting. Go on.”

Beverly picked up the BLT and started picking out the bacon.

“Toilets are connected to a small pipe, which leads to a larger sewer lateral, usually about nine inches in diameter. Jafari was able to make an explosion large enough that he could excuse opening the sewer lateral in the women’s bathroom. After flushing it out with water, he pushed the child through, to where I was waiting below. It’s good she was a small baby. She was tied up tight, so ‘er body was almost as small as her head.” She twitched a bit, thinking. “I’d never seen nothing so small. She had a mask on over her face, and her body was wrapped up in plastic bags, to keep ‘er from getting sick.”

“What happened then?”

The woman smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Then she was mine, for a little while.” She sniffed. “A week. She stayed in my tent. I have savings, I could afford to take care of her for a little bit. Buy her formula and diapers.” Her smile fell. “But sewer’s no place for a baby. She got sick. Fever, vomiting. I took her to the hospital, and then I…” She took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. “I left her.”

Robin desperately wanted to pull the woman in and comfort her, but guessed that Beverly would not take well to physical touch.

“Do you know where the baby is?”

“Yeah. Mathilda’s. I seen her there. She’s happy.”

“The girl named Alice.”

“Yeah.” Beverly was done with her sandwich and was getting jumpy, her fingers fluttering around her middle.

“And Jafari? Can I speak to him?”

Beverly stepped back, her eyes darting around.

“Jafari’s gone.”

“Was he killed?”

Beverly nodded with half a jerk of the head.

“Found him. Didn’t have nothing inside of him. Hollowed out.”

“I’m sorry,” Robin said.

“I should go. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t…”

“Beverly, wait!”

“I’m just gonna hurt her.” She started climbing up the ladder again. “I’m sorry,” she called. Robin didn’t try to follow, and she was soon out of sight. 

“Thanks for the sandwiches!” echoed down the tunnel.


	39. Sarah Baartman

Robin ran up the stairs two at a time and pounded on Cormoran’s door. He hadn’t been answering his phone, but she was too excited to wait until the morning. Nobody answered the door either, and her excitement started to fade. What had she been thinking, pounding on his door at five in the morning? He was probably asleep. A sudden unbidden thought blew through her mind.  _ What if he’s not alone?  _ She had only been in his flat twice before, anyways. Embarrassed, she started making her way down the stairs, hoping that he would never find out about her complete mental lapse. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard the door open, and she paused, cringing.

“Robin?” His voice was hoarse with sleep. “What are you doing here?”

Robin turned around, cheeks flaming. He was leaning on his crutch, wrapped in a fluffy grey dressing gown. His hair was mussed up on one side and he was blinking down at her with a confused and sleepy expression that made Robin feel like she’d missed a step on the stairs.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I, ah, I had a breakthrough on the case that rendered me, well. Temporarily insane. You go back to bed.”

Cormoran shrugged.

“I’m already awake. Come inside. Share your breakthrough.”

“It can wait if you’re tired.”

“Come the fuck inside, Robin, or you woke me up for nothing,” Cormoran said with a grin. Robin shot him an apologetic smile, then followed him into the flat.

It was as neat and organized as it had been the last time she had visited, the only difference being several crayon drawings pinned to the wall, done by Jack, Angel, and Zahara. Cormoran set about making a pot of tea.

“So tell me about this breakthrough,” he said.

“I found Beverly.”

Cormoran’s jaw dropped.

“You  _ what _ ?”

“She’s real. And so is the story.”

“Back up. How did you find her?”

“I’ve been going down into the sewers, looking for her.”

“That’s why you’ve been so tired lately? I thought...” He had thought that her exhaustion had been caused by Hunter’s copious love-making, and while he knew he should be concerned about her stalking the sewers alone at night, he couldn’t help the bubble of relief in his chest.

“I was careful,” she said, “I took my pepper spray and my alarm, and I stayed vigilant.”

“Pepper spray? Now you’re carrying illegal weapons?”

“Would you chill out? I made it myself, out of hot pepper juice.” She held up a small spray-bottle filled with a red liquid. “Not as strong as the professional stuff, but it would slow somebody down.”

“You followed a potential killer through the sewers alone at night, armed with hot sauce,” Cormoran grumbled. 

“It’s the Carolina Reaper, the hottest pepper in the world, I’d like to see you fight against it. Now do you want to hear my breakthrough or not?”

“Fine, let’s hear it.”

“Beverly did find a baby in the sewers.”

Cormoran’s irritation was eclipsed by his curiosity.

“Really!”

“It was exactly like the story. She knew a plumber who told her about a baby that needed rescuing. He blew a hole in a sewer pipe and lowered the baby through. She kept the baby for a week, then dropped it off at a hospital.”

“Jesus. It was all true?”

“According to her, yes.”

“So the rest of the story…”

“I don’t think we can keep pretending it’s fiction anymore.”

Cormoran rubbed his face. 

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. That means…” Robin trailed off. It was too awful to fathom. 

“That means that there could be a group of teenagers being held in a basement in London.”

“And not enough evidence to get the police involved.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he repeated. He took a steadying sip of tea. “Did she say anything about where these girls might be held?”

“She said that she picked the baby up around Waterloo and Pall Mall.” She took out her phone and typed the street names into google maps. “Are there any dance clubs…” She zoomed in. “There! There it is! The Grand Baartman Gentleman’s Club.” Her eyes went wide. “Baartman. The Hottentot Venus was named  _ Sarah Baartman _ . That’s what she was trying to say!”

Cormoran slapped the table. 

“That’s it! _That’s_ where I heard it before! Al is a member of that club, he goes there all the…” realization and horror dawned on his face. “Oh my God…”

“Could Al be…?”

“Baby Auggie, son of an aging rockstar,” Cormoran said. “That’s how Sian knew how to find me. He must have told her that his brother was an investigator.”

There was silence as they both digested this information. 

“Cormoran…” Robin said softly.

“It’s okay,” Cormoran said.

“We don’t know for sure...”

He dragged a hand over his face. He had never been especially close to his brother, but  _ this _ . He shook himself. 

“The police will never buy it,” Cormoran said, “there’s not enough evidence.”

“True.” Robin wasn’t sure if he was trying to defend his brother or implicate him. 

“We’ll have to find more,” Cormoran said. 

 

_ Dear Bunny, _

_ Up until that point I had honestly given no thought to where the mattresses would be taken. All I cared about was Out. I hadn’t been outside in years, so it’s not like I knew what to expect. I couldn’t plan for what I didn’t know, so I had ignored it completely. It was poorly planned, I know. Fatty had even told me that the inmate he had seen smuggled out in a mattress had been compressed outside the Bubble. My mind started whirring, panicking. Was it better to expose my hiding place and be sent back to the Haute and Taut? If I returned I knew that they would never let me off the drugs again. They would increase my dosage until there was nothing left of me. I would be living as a robot, a drug-fueled automaton, emotionless, empty. But at least I would be living. At least I would have a chance. _

_ I stayed where I was.  _

 

_ I heard the men grunting and swearing as they loaded the truck up with the rest of the mattresses. Being at the bottom of the pile, I was almost the last one placed in. _

_ “Christ, this one is heavy,” the man from Pluto said. _

_ “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?” the man from Mercury replied. _

_ “It’s heavier than the others.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Why is that?” _

_ “I don’t care, and it doesn’t matter,” the Mercurian said, warning in his voice, “Don’t say anything.” _

_ “But why?” _

_ “Don’t ask stupid fucking questions is why. Just help me load it up.” I was lifted and shoved into the back of the truck. It was hot, and I could tell that it was dark. “I was thinking,” the Mercurian said, loudly, practically yelling, “I was thinking, maybe we could stop halfway to refuel the truck.” _

_ “The truck has a full tank,” the Plutonian said, “And why are you yelling?” _

_ “We could stop and use the bathroom, maybe. I think that would be a good idea. About halfway we should stop, and both go inside. It’s not like there’s anything important in this truck that needs watching.” _

_ “You’re so fucking weird,” the Plutonian said. _

_ “There’s a really cute girl at the fuel station, okay?” the Mercurian said, in a more normal tone, “I want you to meet her. Be my wingman.” _

_ The Plutonian laughed. _

_ “Ernesto, you dog. Okay. Fine. We’ll stop to refuel.” Then I heard the back of the truck slam shut and we rumbled off, me sweating in the pitch darkness. _

 

_ True to their word, the truck stopped after an hour of driving. I heard the back hatch opening. _

_ “One second, Mark,” the man named Ernesto said, “I want to make sure that nothing has shifted around in here.” He jumped up into the back of the truck. “Listen,” he whispered, his voice hard and angry, “I’m leaving the door open. Close it behind you. If we see you outside we will have to chase you. Don’t put us in that position.” Then he left.  _

_ I waited, breathless, for any sound, any warning sign. Then, hardly believing my luck, I sat up.  _

_ The truck was filled with garbage, not just the mattresses. Lumber, medical waste, broken furniture, buckets of paint. I was on top of a high pile of mattresses, my head almost brushing the ceiling. I scrambled down the stack of bedding, but I was too heavy, and the pile tumbled, landing me flat on my back with the air knocked out of me. I crawled over the refuse, scratching my knees on broken glass and wood, landing my hand in something slimy. The garbage was up to my waist, and I floundered, swimming, pulling my way forward. _

_ The back hatch of the truck was open just enough for me to shimmy out, feet first, and I landed hard on the cement of the fuel station. I only had one shoe, the stiletto that I has skimmed down into a shiv. I held onto it just in case I needed a weapon, but I went barefoot.  _

 

_ Then I was outside. I was outside, in the warmth of the artificial summer, the smell of gasoline and cooling pavement, the sun setting and turning the projected sky a deep purple.  _

_ The feeling of the pavement beneath my feet was real, and the smell of air was real, and the grass growing between the cracks in the sidewalk was real, and all I wanted to do was sit and feel things, and experience the realness of it all. _

_ Then I heard a shout of “HEY!” and I ran. _

_ Love love love, _

_ Mummy _


	40. Al

Cormoran met Al at the Paxton’s Head, like always. Cormoran tried to keep the conversation light, asking about Al’s new girlfriend (friendly, enthusiastic, brunette), his new dog (also friendly, enthusiastic, and brunette), and his new car (the Tesla S, greatest car ever made). Cormoran nodded along, sharing limited information when asked, building trust, laughing at all of Al’s jokes and agreeing with all of his political statements. He had learned a lot from observing Robin over the years; she had a way of nodding and smiling that made people open up with their deepest secrets. Cormoran had always been better at playing bad cop, but he felt like he did a passable impression. Finally they paid the bill and left.

“Would you like to walk around the park for a bit?” Cormoran asked, “There’s something I’d like to discuss with you. It’s pertaining to the case I’m working on.” He could see Al’s ears perk up in excitement, like a puppy’s.

“Absolutely. How exciting!”

They walked across the street to Hyde Park. Frost sparkled on the grass, making everything look slightly unreal. A jazz group was playing Christmas Carols at the bandstand, and the lonely sound of saxophone drifted over to them. Cormoran gestured to a bench and they sat.

“So what’s this about?” Al asked.

“Nothing good, I’m afraid.”

If anything, this made Al look even more excited. Cormoran felt a cringe of shame at what he was about to do.

“Is it a case?” Al asked, “Is it another high profile one? A murder?”

“A human trafficking ring, actually,” Cormoran said. Al’s eyes grew wide.

“Wow. Here in London? Does that really happen here?”

Cormoran was struck again at his brothers naivety. Either Al was an excellent actor or he was the most oblivious man in London. 

“Yes, all over. All the time,” Cormoran said, incredulous, “But this one is different, in that it’s a prostitution ring that caters to very wealthy people.”

“Where?”

“The Grand Baartman Gentleman’s Club.”

Al’s jaw dropped.

“I- That’s-”

Cormoran sighed.

“That’s your club, yes.”

“I- you must be mistaken. There’s no way.”

“You find that hard to believe?”

“Yes, I- I never-” 

Cormoran saw a flicker of doubt flash behind Al’s eyes.

“I like you, Al,” Cormoran said, “I do. So I’m giving you a way out.”

“I don’t- it’s not-”

“You’ve never had sex with any of the dancers there?”

“I… No…”

“Rokeby didn’t take you there to make a man out of you?”

“No!”

“You didn’t know a girl from Afghanistan who had moved to Wales before coming to London?”

Al’s eyes were now darting back and forth like he was watching a ping-pong match.

“No!”

“She didn’t ask you for bedbugs, which you got from your charity work in the projects?”

“You’re insane!”

“She didn’t get pregnant with your baby?”

Al’s eyes grew wide.

“That was… No. No. She didn’t.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Is this some sort of jealousy thing? Is this your way of getting back at us, for- for not  _ including _ you? Do you want something from us?”

“Al, this isn’t an accusation. It’s a warning. When this blows up, and it will, you’re going to go down hard. I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yeah, well, I need yours. And I think it will be mutually beneficial to us both.” Al didn’t say anything. Cormoran leaned forward. “If they discover that you’ve been sleeping with underage girls, you will be a villain. You’ll go to prison and your whole life will fall apart. But if you’re the whistleblower who exposes the whole thing from the inside, you’ll be the hero. Nobody will care if you were a part of it. Hell, Spielberg will make a fucking movie about you.”

Al glanced up at him, then looked back down.

“Do you have proof?” he asked.

“We have the testimony of one of the women.”

“Zuhra?”

“What?” 

“The girl with the bedbugs. Her name was Zuhra.”

“It doesn’t matter who testified. The woman who informed on the ring is now dead.”

Al put his hand to his mouth.

“Oh my God.”

“But before she died she wrote down everything that was happening. Names, dates, everything,” Cormoran lied, “The girls were kidnapped, starved, beaten, forced to have sex with men and never paid a dime.”

“How do you… How do you know she was telling the truth?”

“I don’t. But we also have the testimony of the woman who helped smuggle out her baby.” Cormoran paused to let Al process the information. Then he added, “Al, Zuhra was murdered days after she met with me.”

“Jesus Christ!” Al ran his hands over his face. “I didn’t know,” he said, “I swear I didn’t know anything.” He shook his head like a man dazed. “They look like adults,” he murmured, half to himself, “They really look like adults.”

“You never thought about what all that security was for?”

“For keeping guys out, not keeping girls in!”

“You went down there, you talked to them, you had sex with them, you saw their bruises, and yet you never had one-”

“She’s  _ clumsy _ !” Al yelled, “The bruises are because she’s  _ clumsy _ !”

“The drugs, the starvation, you didn’t suspect a thing?”

“Why would I? They seem happy! They tell us they’re eighteen! We pay them thousands of pounds, of course they’re getting at least  _ some _ of that!”

“ _ You looked the other way! _ ” Cormoran roared, finally losing his temper, “You looked the other way because it was good for you, because you didn’t want to see what was really happening!”

Tears were running down Al’s face now, and he looked like a frightened child. Cormoran took several steadying breaths. 

“Zuhra had a baby,” Cormoran said, making an effort to soften his tone, “A little girl. Zuhra believed that the baby was yours.”

“No… No, that’s not possible.”

“The timeline matches up,” Cormoran said, “And the baby has red hair, like your mum and Ed.”

“I can’t be. It’s not possible.”

“You helped her once,” Cormoran said, “You helped her get bed bugs into the Baartman. Can’t you help her again?”

Al sniffed loudly and wiped his nose on his sleeve. When he spoke his voice was barely a whisper.

“How?” 

“I need you to go to the police and testify against them.”

“I can’t.”

“What about going in with a camera? A recording device? Can you do that?”

“This isn’t just about me,” Al said, “It’s Ed, my friends, my dad.  _ Our _ dad. I can’t send them to prison. I can’t carry that on my conscience.”

Cormoran resisted the urge to comment on the state of Al’s conscience. He swallowed down the hate that had risen up in his throat. He was horrified, disgusted by the creature his brother had turned out to be. But he couldn't show it. Not yet.

“I understand,” he said, “Can you at least get  _ me _ in?”

Al sighed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can do that.”

“Good. Let’s do Friday.”

 

_ Dear Bunny, _

_ I spent the first night running. The soles of my feet hadn’t felt anything but carpet and smooth marble floors in five years, and they stung as they slapped the pavement, but I ran blindly, wildly, lungs burning and heart pounding. _

_ I still had just enough drug in my system to keep me adrenalized until morning, even though I was barefoot and practically naked, and it was cold outside. The streets were mostly empty, so nobody saw me but a few drunks and moon-dusters on the street. I didn’t ask for help and they didn’t offer any. I’m sure that the men stopped following me fairly early on, but at the time it felt like they were right on my heels.  _

_ Around four in the morning the earliest of risers started moving about, and I knew I couldn’t keep running any longer. I found a spot under an overpass and fell asleep.  _

 

_ I wish I could say that I immediately ran down to the sewers and started searching for you. That’s what I wanted to do. But when I next woke up I was burning hot, boiling from the inside, unable to think, unable to move. Everything was red, as if the sun was dying, and I shut my eyes again. _

_ Then I was cold, shaking, my bones were ice, I was so hungry I wanted to eat my own hands, I was desperate for drugs, my own life was being drained out of me like a leaky balloon. _

 

_ I suppose somebody found me, because I woke up in a house. I woke up screaming. I was sore all over, my muscles were on fire. I had a needle in my hand, that led to an IV.  _

_ I didn’t see Saul at first, because he was in his wheelchair in the corner. When I did see him I screamed louder. Wheelchair or not, he was a man. Saul didn’t say anything at first, he just stood there and watched me scream. Then, _

_ “My name is Saul. I’m a volunteer here. I’m not going to hurt you.”  _

_ I didn’t trust him, but I was in no state to run or fight. I stopped screaming.  _

_ “You’re going through withdrawal,” he went on, “We have you on a drip that will help you get off the drugs. Is that what you want?” _

_ I didn’t answer.  _

_ “You are free to leave here at any time. If you want to get off the drugs, I recommend staying, but you don’t have to. We’re not a hospital, we’re a rehab facility. We provide meals, showers, shelter. We only have one rule here, and that is that if you stay here you don’t bring in any drugs or alcohol.” _

_ I stayed for almost six months.  _

_ I thought about you every day. I did. I felt like you, like an infant. I was helpless, completely dependent on the nurses there. They were good to me. I didn’t understand it, I didn’t trust it. They got nothing out of it. I never paid them, I never helped them. They were just good. I still don’t understand it.  _

_ After six months, Saul offered me a job, cleaning his house. It’s hard work, but it gives me money. Saul pays me well, and gives me breaks. He lets me use his computer when I’m on my breaks, which is how I’m writing to you.  _

_ I hope someday he can meet you. He would be an excellent grandfather. _

_ I'm happy, baby bunny. For the first time in years, I'm really and truly happy. I can't wait to see you again. _

_ Love, _

_ Mummy. _


	41. Good Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we gooooooo! Get excited. You're on the top of the roller coaster and it's about to go NUTS!

Cormoran straightened the glasses and observed himself in the mirror. Al had gotten Cormoran onto the guest list of the Grand Baartman, with a pointed reminder that it was “a  _ very  _ exclusive club,” and that he would need to be wearing “something at least half decent”. 

“What do you think?” Cormoran asked, emerging from his office in his Italian suit, “At least half decent?”

Robin looked him up and down and tried to keep her expression somewhat neutral. She swallowed hard. 

“I’d say around seventy-five percent decent,” she said.

“Can you tell that the glasses aren’t real?” he asked. Robin squinted at him, looking him over.

“No, you’re good.”

“How’s the video feed?” 

She looked at her computer.

“Not bad. No sound, yet, but the image is clear.” She opened her desk drawer and pulled out a thin black box. “I got something to go along with it.” Inside the case was a straight-pin with a shiny black head. 

“A pin?” 

“It’s a microphone. It goes with the glasses. I’ve already tested it here.” She stepped up to Cormoran and carefully tucked the microphone into the knot of his tie. 

He smelled unfairly good. 

“I’ll be listening in the whole time,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “I’ll be in the Land Rover, parked on Pall Mall, watching on my laptop.” She deemed the microphone sufficiently hidden, but she didn’t let go of his tie, savoring the proximity. She breathed him in, the smell of wool and coffee and rain. She steadied herself and hoped that she wasn’t turning red.

“I’m not going to be in any danger,” Cormoran said, “It’s not like I’m going to single handedly bring the whole place down. I’m just doing a cursory sweep of the environment, to see if there’s any evidence of trafficking.” 

“I know. Still, though, can’t be too cautious,” she said. Cormoran huffed out a laugh. She could feel his breath on her forehead, the warmth of his skin through his shirt. 

“You’re one to talk. How many times now have you thrown caution to the wind?” 

Robin smiled and ran her fingers down the lapels of his Italian suit, not meeting his eyes. His nose was almost touching her forehead.

“We have each others’ backs,” Robin said, “That’s what we do.”

Cormoran’s phone started to ring.

“That will be Al,” he said, “Time for me to go.”

Robin finally looked up and met his eyes. They stood like that for a moment, just looking, sharing air. Then, so fast he almost missed it, Robin leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

“Good luck,” she said. Cormoran stared at her. Outside, a car honked. “Go.”

Cormoran cleared his throat.

“Right. Yeah.”

Then he was gone.

 

Al was waiting for Cormoran in a brand new Tesla, the like of which Cormoran had only seen on TV.

“Hiya, bro!” Al crowed, “Check out my new wheels!” 

Cormoran didn’t know how to answer, so he just nodded appreciatively and hoped that was enough.

“The Tesla S has been rated the number one car in all categories,” Al went on, “You’re experiencing the future of driving here.”

“Nice.” Cormoran had to admit that the roominess around his feet was a pleasant change from the past electric cars he had ridden in. “So what can I expect at this place tonight?”

“I asked the manager if I could bring my brother, and she did a background check on you, then said yes. So clearly their security is pretty strong. When we get there they’ll ask for your ID and my membership card. Then they’ll pat you down and put you through a metal detector.”

Cormoran had been expecting this, but he still didn’t like it. He thought that the glasses and microphone were small enough to get through a walk-through detector, but a wand would reveal them quickly. 

“Are the metal detectors walk-through, or hand-held?” he asked

“Walk-through. Why?” Al narrowed his eyes at cormoran. “Are you bugged?”

“No,” Cormoran lied, “Just for future reference.”

The Baartman was an unmarked building made of black stone. There was no address, no name, just a drop-off zone at the curb with a suited valet waiting for them. They pulled up at the curb and Al tossed his keys to the valet.

“Treat er right, Ricki,” he called, “This car is my new baby.”

 

Everything inside the Baartman lobby was black. Black marble floors and counter, an arching black ceiling, sleek modern chandeliers in dark glass. Two security guards stood on either side of a metal detector, both so large they dwarfed even Cormoran.

“Names, IDs, and membership cards,” one of them growled. 

“Right,” Al said. They both fumbled in their pockets for their IDs. “I’m Al Rokeby, and this is my brother, Cormoran Strike. He’s my guest, so he has no membership card, but he should be on the list. I talked to Elizabeth. She cleared it.”

“Ah, yes,” the guard said, “She mentioned that you would be bringing a guest.”

Al handed over a sleek black card, the size of a credit card but made out of a heavy metal. The guard scanned it, ran his finger down the list of names, then held their IDs under a blue light scanner. 

“Coats, bags, and anything metal go in the bin,” he said, gesturing to a stack of plastic containers. Cormoran put his jacket and his phone into the bin.

“Do I have to take off my glasses?” he asked. 

“Nah, glasses are fine,” the guard said, “Go right on through the metal detector.”

Cormoran tried to look as casual as he could as he walked through. No alarms sounded. He stifled a sigh of relief and followed Al into the elevator.


	42. Upstairs

The upstairs room was unlike anything Cormoran had ever seen. Every surface was covered in glistening dark mirrors, reflecting and refracting the blue light into infinite tunnels. Black leather chairs were placed in circles around dark mirrored tables. Al gestured to a booth in one corner, and the two men sat. 

There were six small platforms interspersed around the room, with poles on each, where girls were undulating in time to a high, slow song. Other girls were walking around the room, greeting men and serving drinks. They were each wearing lingerie in an exaggerated regurgitation of their native costume: pathetic hints at kimonos, veils, brindles, fur hats. It was like the Yandy Halloween catalog met We Are the World. 

“Your regular, Al?” one girl asked, approaching them. She was snake-thin, with caramel skin and slanted eyes that were accentuated by dramatic slashes of black and blue eye makeup. Her hair was cut into a severe black wedge, and she was wearing some sort of white and gold attempt at a sexy Cleopatra costume, a gold snake on a crown on her head. The girl was hard to look at. She was artificial perfection, the ideal doll, her mouth full and dark beneath the makeup, the eyes begging to serve. 

“Thank you, Nenet. And my brother here will have the same.” 

The girl nodded, winked, and swayed away.

“That’s Nenet. She was friends with Zuhra. She’s a feisty one.”

Cormoran had been hiding his disgust to the best of his ability, but he finally whirled on Al.

“You really thought that she was over eighteen?” he hissed. Al shrugged. 

“Some people just look young.  _ I _ look young. People always mistake me for a twenty something.”

There was a black leather-bound album on the mirrored table in front of them, titled Global Menu. Cormoran opened it. Each page had a large photograph of a girl, all in their teens, with their name written underneath. They were all beautiful, all unique, from different races and countries, but with eerie similarities. The all had the same full lips, the same this nose, the same empty expression. Cormoran set the binder down, feeling rather sick. He thought about Robin on the other end of the camera and felt a warm surge of affection and gratitude that she was there.

The girl returned, handing them both scotch and sodas. 

“So tell me more about this place,” Cormoran asked Al, “Dancers? Special events? Private rooms?”

“You’re in for a treat,” Al said, “Batool is performing tonight. She’s from the Middle East. Then later Sanaya is doing a show too, she’s African."

"Africa isn't a country."

"What?"

"African isn't a country. It's a continent made up of fifty-four unique countries, each-" Al was laughing too hard for Cormoran to continue.

"Chill out, man," Al said, "You’ll love it.”

Cormoran sincerely doubted that. He sipped his drink and refrained from commenting. As if they had been waiting for Al’s cue, the stage in the far corner lit up with red lights and the music rose in drama.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” an oily voice recited, “We have scoured the Middle East, seeking exotic specimens such as these… Women covered up, hidden away, because their beauty is so intense it makes men lose all control…”

A woman in a long black burqa came out on the stage. 

Cormoran’s mind wandered to his time in Afghanistan. He’d been good friends with a local woman there, a translator named Fatima. Fatima took no shit. She had no qualms about calling people out for insensitivity, and she was always willing to teach Cormoran about her culture. He could imagine her sitting next to him in the club, spitting fire about the exotification of middle eastern women and the misuse of burqas for the sake of entertainment. 

Cormoran liked thinking about Fatima. He had liked her. He had spent many evenings at her home, with her husband and three children, cheating at cards and listening to music until the early hours. It was Fatima who had introduced Cormoran to the music of Tom Waits. 

The woman on stage started moving, undulating to the music.

Thinking about Fatima made him happy. He felt a sudden sense of security, here, watching the girl on the stage spin and dance. 

Then Fatima  _ was _ there, sitting next to him.

“What a load of bullshit,” she said.

Cormoran jumped and stared at her, his eyes wide. She smiled at him. After a moment of staring he realized that it wasn’t Fatima. It couldn’t be. Instead it was a very large bird, who spoke in Fatima's voice. 

“Don’t say anything,” she said, “Pretend I’m not here.”

“You’re a bird,” Cormoran said. But instead of coming out of his mouth the words appeared in front of him, hovering in the air. 

The girl on the stage removed her burqa to the cheers of the crowd. Underneath she was wearing a filmy veil over the lower half of her face, a garter belt and bra with gold coins as trim, and a thin gauzy skirts hanging off her narrow hips. It was a tragic regurgitation of traditional dress, a stereotype of some vaguely eastern country so far removed from the original costume upon which it was based Cormoran wasn’t sure what country it was supposed to be mimicking. 

“ _ Baghairat _ ,” bird Fatima spat beside him. Cormoran smiled. He’d missed her.

The music was pouring over him, making him feel soft and silly. He took another sip of his drink. He realized with a start that he was suddenly in no pain. He had lived with pain for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like to be without it. He felt wonderful. He grinned at Al, and Al grinned back.

“I told you that it was okay, didn’t I?” Al said. His words floated to Cormoran as if through water. Cormoran blinked at him. He felt like he had grown several inches; his skin felt tight and everything was a little off, as if he was seeing it from a slightly dizzying perspective. Fatima the bird was gone, but he could still catch a glimpse of her in the corner of his peripheral vision. 

“I’m…”

His head was starting to hurt and the lights all seemed a bit too bright. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, centering himself. His breath didn’t come easily, though, and it felt as if his lungs had been replaced with leaky beach-balls. He heard Fatima’s voice again.

“Get out of here,” she said. He looked around but he couldn’t find her. 

“Cormoran?” Al asked, “You alright?”

“I have to…” he muttered, “Bathroom.”

“Down the hall and to the left. An attendant will show you the way.”

“Thanks.” Cormoran lurched to his feet, a loud ringing in his ears. He made his way to the door, listing slightly, trying to ignore the white clouds that were inching their way into his peripheral vision, trying to breathe. One of the women at the door took his elbow.

“Sir, are you quite alright?” the woman said. She was slightly older than the other girls Cormoran had seen at the club, and she spoke with a heavy Russian lilt.

“Fine. I just need a bathroom.” He tried to shake the girl’s hand off. “I need…” he mumbled, “I need Robin...” The woman’s grip only tightened around his arm, and she started leading him towards the elevator.

“My name is Sapphire,” the girl said, “I will help you to restroom, sir. You are not well.”

“No,” Cormoran said, “No, wait…”

“It is perfectly alright,” the girl said, her voice soft and reassuring, “You just have bit of stomach bug. I have nice place for you to lie down.” 

She led him to a door with a complicated control panel, and keyed in a code.

“This isn’t…” Cormoran started. His legs felt loose and light, like they were filled with helium. “Where are we going?” His voice came out high and sounded foreign in his ears. He was panting, trying to catch his breath.

“This is room twenty-seven,” she answered, “Good for sick people. You feel better soon.”

“What will happen there?”

A look of sadness flashed across the woman’s eyes, then her expression returned to her empty smile.

“I don’t know.”

She opened the door to room twenty-seven and steered him in after her. The room was dark, with an aquarium full of exotic fish taking up one wall. It was empty except for two heavy black armchairs.

“Sit, please, take off your shoes.” She led Cormoran to a chair, and he sank into it, running his hands over his face in an attempt to ground himself. The woman knelt down and removed his shoes. Then she reached up for his glasses. Cormoran batted her hands away.

“No, not the glasses. I need those.” She shot him a look, like a disappointed school teacher.

“Meester Strike, I am just trying to help you.” She reached for them again, and he grabbed her wrist as hard as he could, staring her hard in the face. He could see fear flickering behind her eyes. Even in his breathless and weakened state, he was still larger and stronger than most.

“The glasses…” he wheezed, “...The glasses stay on.”

“You stay right there, Mister Strike,” the girl said, “I’ll be right back.” 

Cormoran heard the door open and close.  _ Stay focused. Stay vigilant.  _ He counted his breaths, trying to push the air into his lungs. He imagined Robin in the car a block away. He imagined Robin panicking, trying to come after him, doing something reckless.

“I’m alright,” Cormoran muttered, “I’m alright, don’t do anything stupid. Stay where you are.” He wondered if this was true. 

An enormous red koi stared at him from behind the inch-thick plastic aquarium wall, opening and closing its mouth in what looked like surprise. 

The door slid open again, and two people entered, a man and a woman. The woman was older than Cormoran, he guessed around fifty, but she was preserved like a bug in amber, with a shining blonde bob and not a single line on her face. The man looked vaguely familiar, but Cormoran couldn’t place the face. He was in a suit that Cormoran guessed cost more than double Cormoran’s annual salary, and he had a gun tucked away under his jacket. He came and stood immediately behind Cormoran’s chair. Cormoran wiped the sweat off his upper lip. 

“Hello, Cormoran,” the woman said, smiling, “My name is Regina Cesars, and this is my partner, Alexander.” She sat in the other armchair with a sigh. “I heard you wouldn’t let my girl Sapphire remove your hidden camera, is that correct?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Please. This is an illegal infringement of our privacy.” She looked Cormoran up and down with pity. “Do you really think you could stop Alexander here? Look at the state of you. You couldn’t even stop  _ me _ .”

“What did you do to me? What did you give me?”

“Nothing,” Alexander said, from behind Cormoran’s back, “You have food poisoning, that’s all.” Before Cormoran knew what was happening, Alexander’s arms clamped down hard over Cormoran’s, pinning Cormoran to the arms of the chair. Cormoran tried to fight back, but the effort only caused the ringing in his ears to increase. His heart was beating like machine-gun fire, and he thought he might be sick. Regina darted out a hand and pulled the glasses off Cormoran’s nose and tossed them into the koi pond.

“You really think nobody’s tried to catch us before?” Regina said with a sardonic smile, “Glasses cams are a rookie move.”

Cormoran’s mind was racing, but it was like running through quicksand.

“I’m… I’m not trying to catch anybody,” he gasped, “I heard about this club from Al and I wanted to check it out.”

“With a camera,” Regina said.

“I get off on that. Videos and stuff.”

“So your friendship with Sian Carw has nothing to do with this.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play stupid. Do you think I don’t know everything about you?”

Cormoran stared at the red koi fish, who undulated its tail at him. He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He clenched his teeth.

“We do background checks on all of our patrons, Mr. Strike. And patrons who crossed paths with one of our former employees? You lit up all over the map.”

“Sian told me about her time here,” Cormoran gasped, “I thought it sounded like something I’d be into. So I came to check it out.”

“With a camera.”

“Yes.”

“Because that turns you on.”

“Yes.”

“You are a man of unusual tastes.” Regina stretched her legs out in from of her, languidly. “Robin Ellacott, for example.”

“Who?”

“Playing stupid is not attractive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know everything about you, Mr. Strike.” She looked up at the man. “Alexander, dear, could you name the six people Cormoran loves?”

“Lucille Fantoni, Jackson Fantoni, Nick Herbert, Ilsa Herbert, Seamus ‘Shanker’ Kennedy, and Robin Ellacott,” Alexander intoned. 

“For their sake I am going to beg you to let this go,” Regina said.

“Or what, you’re going to murder everyone I love?” Cormoran gasped, “Good luck covering that one up.”

“I don’t need luck. I have money.” She leaned in to look into Cormoran’s eyes. “How are you feeling? Are you getting sleepy?” Now that she mentioned it, he noticed that he couldn’t keep his eyes open. “I bet you see yourself as quite the hero,” she went on. Cormoran stared at her mouth, trying to make her lips match her words, but her words were a second delayed, like a bad movie dubbing. He wiped sweat off his forehead. 

“I help these girls,” she was saying, “If it wasn’t for me, they’d be in some massage parlor, getting their little hineys pounded into ground beef.”

Cormoran tasted something sharp and sour rising in his throat and started to cough. 

“Mister Strike?” The woman said, “Can you hear me?”

The man named Alexander came into Cormoran’s rapidly shrinking line of sight.

“Is it working?” he asked, “Is he dead?”

“Not yet,” the woman said, “But soon.”

Then Cormoran was falling down a tight dark hole, then nothing.


	43. The Hamper

Cormoran became aware of his body first, and that he was very sleepy. He felt like a flat tire. He was lying somewhere incredibly soft and comfortable. A woman’s voice was talking, and there was a sheet over him. He was five years old again, in his mum’s bed, listening to her read. 

“Are you sure?” Leda was saying, “Did you check for a pulse?”

“Yes. He’s done,” a man’s voice responded. Cormoran couldn’t tell who the man was. It wasn’t Uncle Ted. He realized that he was cold and wet all over, and his jaw ached. He could taste vomit in his mouth, and he hoped that he still had his Nicorette gum in his pocket.

“He’s a big guy. You’re sure you gave him enough?” the woman asked.

Now that he thought about it, the woman’s voice didn’t sound much like his mum, either. It was too high.

“I’m sure, alright? Stop worrying.”

With an enormous effort he opened his eyes a crack. Everything around him was white. Was he in a cloud? Maybe he was dead.

“I’m sorry to doubt you, but your plan with cutting the girl’s break line was less than successful,” the woman said.

“This one will work. Didn’t I do a good job with Zuhra?”

“Heroin in the takeaway, yes, very clever,” she said, sounding like a parent mollifying a petulant child. 

“And I took care of the teacher and the old man,” he added. 

“Those two were easy. You can frame anybody with a dick pic, especially if they’re a schoolteacher. And as for the old man, don’t try to paint that as a success. He’s still alive.”

“They were good plans,” he pouted. 

“That’s your problem. They were  _ plans _ . You get so excited and involved with making a plan, it gets too complicated and the whole thing falls apart. I don’t see why you can’t just shoot them both and have it done with.”

“This isn’t your average case,” the man said, “Look, even with the police in our pockets, we’re not invincible. These two are high profile. He’s ex SIB, we don’t want to get the military involved. Not to mention his dad is Johnny Rokeby.”

Cormoran tried moving his fingers, but the signal didn’t seem to reach from his brain to his hands. The events of the past day started trickling back to him. 

“So what’s your plan?” the woman asked.

“Their office building has faulty wiring.”

“You’re going to start a fire? Really?”

“Why not? It’s the perfect forensic countermeasure.”

“We don’t know any firefighters. If they investigate for arson, our influence won’t extend enough to cover anything up.”

“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, the wiring is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Plus he smokes like a chimney. Stick a blanket over the space heater, add a gas leak in the stove, et voila.”

“And the girl?”

“Robin? She doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know anything.”

“Don’t lie to me, Alexander.”

“I swear, she won’t investigate it.”

“If you don’t take care of her, I’ll have somebody else do it. I doubt that Benny would be as gentle as you.”

The man sighed.

“Fine, I’ll do it. I’ll put her in the room with him, two birds with one stone. Everybody already thinks they’re fucking-”

“ _ Language _ , Alexander.”

“Right, sorry. Everybody already thinks they’re  _ sleeping together _ , anyways.”

“And when will you do this?”

“I’ll have the laundry cart sent over to his flat tonight, with him in it. Then I’ll go over to Robin’s place, get her something to drink, do the same.” 

_ So that’s where I am, _ Cormoran thought,  _ A laundry cart. _

“And carry her body across London? And what if her roommate is there?”

“I’m trying my best here, okay? If you ever feel like pitching in, and not just shitting on- sorry-  _ discouraging _ all my ideas…”

“Isn’t there a bar down the street from her office?” the woman said, “Meet her there. Give her just enough to incapacitate her, not enough to kill her. While it’s still kicking in, she’ll just look drunk, and you can take her back to the office under the pretense of helping her out.  _ Then _ set the place on fire.”

“Right,” the man said, chastened, “Right. Good plan.”

“I’ve been doing this for as long as you’ve been alive, kiddo,” the woman said, “What are your thoughts on Al?”

“He’s too thick to be a threat. He helped us get Strike in here, didn’t he?”

“My thoughts exactly. All the same, he should stay in the dark. He’s loyal to his family. I don’t think he would have helped if he had known we were going to kill his brother.” There was the sound of a drink being poured. “What about their subcontractors? Will they cause any problems?”

“I doubt it. One is on death’s door anyways, with MS. I suppose if he starts sniffing around I could find a problem with his medication, but hopefully it won’t come to that. I don’t want too many bodies piling up.”

“And the other?”

“Total stoner. If he causes any trouble I can get him arrested for dealing. Not a problem.”

“Good.”

Cormoran’s brain was aching, trying to formulate a plan, trying to stay awake, trying not to dissolve into a red panic. 

“You’re not having any second thoughts, here, are you?” Regina asked.

“No. Never.”

“Robin Ellacott is a very pretty girl.”

“It's not that.”

The woman sighed and when she spoke again her voice was softer.

“I know it’s a lot of bodies,” she said, “I know. But we’re on the right side here. You know that, right?”

“Yes, I know. Of course I do.”

“Without us, those girls would be joining ISIS. Or in massage parlors being raped ten times a day.”

“I know.”

“Your uncle and I grew up in a massage parlor. I know what it’s like. The girls are better off here.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.”

“The only reason they can’t leave is because we can’t risk being exposed. When Zuhra left, she was jeopardizing the lives of all the girls. If they got discovered they’d all be deported, sent back to war zones. We didn’t know if she was going to expose us. She gave us no choice.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Mum.”

“I know I don’t. I trust you more than anybody in this world.”

“I’m honored.”

“Go on now, take him to his flat. Good luck.”

Cormoran heard footsteps approaching, then he was rolling, being pushed along in a cart of bedding. He wanted to fight, to scream, to jump up and strangle whoever was about to kill him, but his arms and legs still felt like sandbags and he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to overpower anybody in his current state.

_ Breathe. Breathe. Think of something. _ But his brain was a step too slow, his head pounding. He could feel blood at the nape of his neck, and wondered how hard he had fallen.  _ I have to warn Robin.  _ The cart stopped, and he could hear an elevator beeping.

“Hiya, Henry,” a voice said.

“Hey Miguel.”

“You takin laundry out? You wan me to do it?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

The elevator opened, the cart bumped over the threshold, and Cormoran felt himself  moving down. Then the door opened again, and Cormoran could hear traffic. The cart rattled on the pavement, and Henry whistled as he walked along.

Then a woman’s voice rang out. 

“Hunter?” Robin’s voice. Cormoran’s heart stopped.  _ Robin. _

“Robin?” the man asked, clearly thinking the same thing, “What are you doing here?”  

_ How does he know Robin? What’s happening?  _ Cormoran’s mind was wrapping in on itself.  _ I have to warn her. _

“Where is he? Where’s Cormoran?” Robin asked.

_ Just go away, Robin, just leave. Just run. _

“What? I haven’t seen him,” Henry said, “Why?”

Something clicked inside Cormoran’s mind.  _ Hunter. Alexander. They’re the same person. That’s how I knew him. _

Cormoran forced his jaws open and tried to call her name. It came out a strangled, gasping groan.

“Cormoran!”

There was the sound of a scuffle and a shriek from Robin, then a hiss of a spray bottle and a yelp of pain from Alexander.

“Cormoran!” Robin screamed, “Cormoran!”

Mustering up all the strength he could manage, Cormoran sat up, his body screaming in protest.

There she was, grappling tooth and nail with the man who Cormoran had known as Hunter, mortician’s assistant. Hunter was holding Robin from behind. He was bleeding heavily from his nose, and his eyes were red and puffy from pepper spray. Cormoran could taste the spray on the air, feel it burning on his skin. Robin’s eyes were also streaming, but it didn’t stop her from landing a fist down between Hunter’s legs, a sharp elbow into his stomach. Hunter doubled over, and she took the opportunity to land her elbow back into his nose a second time. Cormoran lurched over, trying to free himself from the laundry cart, but he only managed to topple the hamper onto its side in an avalanche of dirty laundry. The effort caused his head to spin again, his ears ringing and vision blurring.  _ Move, you broken old fuck.  _ By the time he was able to focus again, it was just in time to see Robin being dragged into the lift doors.


	44. Chapter 44

Robin wanted to be a fighter. I wasn’t her first nature, she was a peacemaker at heart, but she had learned and struggled and trained until she was able to stand up for herself, both physically and mentally. She had fought her way through the trial when she was twenty, and had gotten her rapist sent away. She had fought the Shacklewell Ripper and won. She had fought Matthew, and had come out triumphant. She fought the demons in her head, and most of the time she managed to keep them at bay. There had only been one time she had lost a fight, only one time she had been unable to fight back, that night at the University, when his big hands had closed around her neck and she had gone limp, dead, broken. And now, here, Hunter’s hands tightened on her throat, and she felt all of the fight fly out of her again. She was back, back on that dark pathway, her mind a screaming gyre, unable to speak or move or breathe, unable to do anything but sag under his grip.

They were in the lift. He was gripping her neck with one hand, a gun with another. He didn’t realize that the gun was largely unnecessary. Just one hand on her throat was enough to incapacitate her. She was the physical embodiment of fear.

“Why did you do this?” Hunter murmured, the gun to her ear. “Why did you have to get involved?” Robin blinked up from her haze of terror and was surprised to hear deep sadness in his voice. “Why couldn’t you have just let it go?” 

Hunter removed the gun enough enough to hit the lift button marked B, then returned it to her head. The lift lurched downwards.

“I tried to protect you,” Hunter said, “But you just wouldn’t let me.” Tears were running down his face. “I’ll make it fast. And as painless as I can. I have to do it now, before the others get to you. Can you understand?”

Robin wheezed in a breath.  _ No, not again, this can’t happen again, make it stop, please, make it stop. _ His hands, his smell, the feeling of his breath on her neck, it was too much. 

That night at the university, Robin had discovered that she could retreat inside of herself, like a hermit crab into its shell. She’d crawled somewhere deep down, dark and quiet, until she could no longer feel anything, no longer have control over her physicality. She had inhabited her body the way a hand inhabited a glove, her eyes peering out at the world from behind the safety of her skull. Her arms and legs became puppet limbs, that were moved with great effort, and only when absolutely necessary. She had stayed hidden in this place for weeks after being attacked. Now she was back, someplace where Hunter couldn’t touch her.

“I love you, Robin,” Hunter said, “I love you. It feels good to say it out loud.”

The word tunneled through the fog of panic in her head. 

_ I love you _ . 

It broke in and stuck. Robin wrenched herself back into her body with a massive effort. She looked down at her puppet arms and legs and felt the life underneath them, the blood moving in her puppet fingers. 

_ No.  _

_ This isn’t how love looks.  _

_ And this isn’t how it ends. _

With all the strength she had, Robin threw her head back into his nose. Hunter had anticipated her struggling away from him, and was prepared to grip her throat tighter against him. But he had not expected her to move backwards. She used all of her weight against him, and the shock of it caught him off guard and made him stagger backwards and loosen his grip on the gun. She grabbed the hand with the gun and forced it up to the ceiling, where it went off and hit the light with a shower of sparks. Now the fight was back in her, the fire of adrenaline in her veins, and she pressed her thumb into the vein on his wrist as hard as she could, making him release his grip on the trigger. She wrenched it out of his hand.

Robin had never fired a gun, although she knew the general concept. Point and squeeze, easy. In TV shows they shot guns like it was the simplest thing in the world, firing two guns at once and always hitting their target. Without thinking she pointed it towards his chest and squeezed. 

It was a small gun, but it jerked back harder than she had intended and the shot went wide, the bullet tearing into his shoulder rather than his chest. Hunter fell back, a look of profound surprise on his face. He reached up, in a daze, and touched his shoulder. His fingers came away bloody, and he stared at them like they belonged to somebody else. He slowly raised his eyes to Robin.

“You shot me.”

The lift door opened.

“You fucking shot me!”

He started coming towards her again, red blooming across his shirt, and Robin ran.

She tore down the dark marble hallway, not paying attention to where she was going or what she was doing, just running like a hunted animal. She could hear Hunter shouting behind her, and she ducked into the closest door.

It was dark in the room, with loud music and flashing lights. A drums were pounding through the speakers, and a girl dressed in what looked like a leopard-skin loincloth was crawling across the stage.

_ “Baby, baby, let's make romance _

_ You know your old time lover hasn't got a chance...” _

Before Robin could get her bearings, two enormous guards were descending on her. She tried to duck out of their reach, but there was a sharp stabbing pain in her scalp, and her head jerked back as one of them had grabbed her, hard, by her braid. She pulled and fought until she thought all of her hair was going to rip off her head, but it wasn’t enough and large arms were grabbing her from behind. Robin fought with all of her draining strength. She threw her head back, an elbow to the throat, a fist between the legs, but it wasn’t enough, she was losing ground. 

_ “He's stranded in the jungle flat as he can be _

_ So come on pretty baby just you and me...” _

Faces turned to her in the gloom, men caught in expressions of surprise and curiosity, wondering if it was some kind of new show.

“HELP!” she screamed, “SOMEBODY HELP ME!” She scanned the faces for somebody, anybody who could possibly be a witness. “AL! AL ROKEBY! HELP ME!” He wasn’t there.

_ “The boys in the jungle had me on the run _

_ When something heavy hit me like an atomic bomb...” _

Hunter staggered in, leaning on the door for support. He was pale from blood loss.

“DON’T SHOOT HER,” he roared, clutching his shoulder, “LEAVE HER TO ME!”

_ “When I woke up and my head started to clear _

_ I had a strange feeling I was with cooking gear...” _

The men tried to lift Robin off the ground, but she managed to land a solid kick to a knee, and the man let her go with a grunt of pain.

Robin could make out the faces of the girls in the gloom. They all looked like Sian; the same full lips, thin noses, and wide, frightened eyes. Everybody was frozen, watching as Robin fought against the men trying to drag her back out into the hall. The music was still playing, but the dancers had stopped. 

_ “I smelled something cookin' and I looked to see _

_ That's when I found out they was a cookin' me…” _

Then there was the sound of sirens, and a woman’s roar echoed down the hall.

“LONDON POLICE! LET HER GO!”

Robin turned to see Vanessa, standing in the hall, five firearms officers standing behind her, guns drawn. 

“Vanessa…” Robin gasped. Then, knowing that she was finally safe enough to let go, Robin fainted. 


	45. The gutter

The rain was coming down in silver sheets, flooding the sidewalks, gurgling through the drain pipes. Cormoran had managed to crawl into a somewhat-dry corner, where he had pulled out his nicotine gum and had stuffed a whole pack’s worth into his mouth at once. He had seen the police cars come, and had stayed hidden. They didn’t need any distractions. Robin needed the help more than he did. He had watched as the building was evacuated, old men and teenage girls pouring out onto the street together, huddling in the rain, being guided into the backs of the cars. No sign of Robin, but then he had hidden far away.

He shut his eyes, letting the minty-fresh nicotine seep into his system. It was barely enough, he wanted more, much more, but the thin thread of the drug helped him cling to consciousness just enough. 

“Cormoran!” 

His eyes shot open at the sound of her voice. 

“Rob…?” 

She came tearing around the corner, a wild look in her eyes. She was soaked through, her hair blood-red and clinging to her skin. She knelt down beside him on the muddy pavement.

“Cormoran, are you alright?”

“Yuh… Yeah…” He blinked up at her. “The girls?”

“The girls are okay. They’re all okay. Vanessa is taking care of it.” She was shaking. Cormoran wanted to tell her that he was fine, really, he was.  _ Don’t cry, Robin, why are you crying?  _ He reached out for her face and took it in his hands. 

“The ambulance is on its way,” she said, “Oh Cormoran, I…” 

Her skin was freezing from the rain.  _ You’re cold, Robin, let me warm you. _ She was touching his face in wonder that he was still there, that they were both still alive, she was kissing his forehead and his cheeks, the palms of his hands. And then her mouth was on his, and it was raining, and she was kissing him, her lips warm against the cold of the night. It was clumsy; small, closed-mouth kisses, her hair on his face, her tears in his mouth, rain seeping in between them, but her skin on his was the only real thing on the planet. They stayed together until they were illuminated by the blue and red lights of the ambulance, and the shouting of paramedics made Robin jump to her feet.

“Over here!” Robin called, “Help us!”

She helped him up and half-carried him over to an ambulance. Then Robin’s soft touch was replaced by the rough prying hands of paramedics on his shoulders, taking his vital signs and shining lights into his eyes that made him cringe away. They lifted him onto the bed in the back of the ambulance.

“What’s your name?”

“Corma… Cor...”

“His name is Cormoran Strike,” Robin said, “He was given some sort of poison.”

“Do you know what kind of poison?” the paramedic asked.

“No,” Robin said. The paramedic turned back to Cormoran.

“Okay Cormoran, can you tell me what happened?”

He blinked, trying to make sense of the moving bodies.

“The girls… Where?” 

Robin took his hand.

“The girls are fine,” she said, “They’re all out. They’re free.”

“Cormoran, do you know what you were given?” the paramedic asked.

“Help the girls…” Cormoran murmured.

“They’re all okay,” Robin said, “They’re being seen to now.” She took his hand in hers. “Can you tell the doctor what you were given?”

Cormoran reached for Robin’s face.

“You… You were shot?”

“No, he didn’t shoot me. Come on, Cormoran, you have to help us. Tell us what they gave you.”

“Something… I had a fit. Couldn’t move.” He looked down at himself. “Robin, did I…” His voice lowered to a whisper. “I’m wet.”

“It’s okay, it’s just rain.”

“Are you currently taking any medications?” the paramedic asked.

“No.”

“Any known allergies?”

“No.”

“Alright, we’re going to start out by flushing out your system, so we’re going to put in an IV. I’m also going to give you a high dose of charcoal, to help absorb any toxins in your stomach lining. The doctors will want to keep you under observation for a while, do some blood work to find out what exactly you were given and what the long term effects might be.”

Cormoran winced as they inserted the IV.

“Robin…” Cormoran shut his eyes. He tried to reach for her face, but he couldn’t lift his arm high enough. She took his hand in hers and kissed his knuckles. 

“Yeah?”

“You’re so... beautiful.”

She smiled, blushing scarlet.

“You’re high.” 

“They’re not... mutually... exclusive.”

“Just rest.”

Cormoran turned to the paramedic.

“Tha’s Robin,” he told the paramedic.

“Hello Robin,” the paramedic said, kindly, “I’m Lisa.”

“Isn’t... Robin... beautiful?” Cormoran said, blinking blearily. Robin flushed scarlet. 

“She’s very lovely,” Lisa agreed. 

“Robin…” Cormoran murmured, his eyes closed, “Mm. Love her.”


	46. Haircut

Robin stayed with Cormoran on the way to the hospital, she sat by his bed while they ran blood tests and checked his vitals, she held his hand while they put a tube down his nose and into his stomach. She stayed by his side until they put him into a room, and she was told that she had to leave until visiting hours the next day. That’s where Vanessa found her, crying in helpless rage at the night-shift nurse.

“Come on,” Vanessa said, “I have to process you.”

“I can’t leave him,” Robin said, “What if he wakes up?”  _ What if he never does? _

“This won’t take that long,” Vanessa said, “You’ll see him as soon as visiting hours start tomorrow.” She took Robin’s elbow and guided her to the stairway. “Right now I need your statement and some photos. We’ll need to collect some stuff from under your fingernails and your hair as well. But I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Robin let out a breathy little sob.

“I know. I’ve- I’ve done this before.”

Vanessa took Robin’s hand.

“This time is different. It’s going to be totally different.”

 

She had done this before. At University, after they found her in the bushes, they had taken her to the station to be processed. She had been a living, breathing crime scene, a piece of evidence, nothing more.

Vanessa was right, this time was different. It was different, and it was the same. Like before, they combed out Robin’s hair and scraped under her nails. Like before, they photographed her battered and naked body with cold calculation, holding up rulers to show the length of the bruises on her neck, her chest, her arms. Like before, they took away her clothes as evidence. This time, though, she changed into the spare work-out clothes Vanessa had in her work locker. This time, the investigation stopped at the waist. This time, Vanessa kept on cracking dumb puns to make her laugh (it didn’t work, but she managed to let slip a smile). This time Robin knew that she was going back to the arms of friends who loved her unconditionally, and who would never turn her away. This time she was triumphant. The girls were safe. The girls were being rescued. And everything was going to be okay.

After being processed, Robin went to the nurse, who put a splint on Robin’s sprained wrist, a hot pad on Robin’s aching throat, and gently bandaged Robin’s shredded knuckles. 

She was tired, too tired to speak coherently, so Vanessa let her go with a promise to return the next day to give a statement. As Robin left the processing room, she saw that the sky was starting to turn pink around the edges. 

Ilsa was waiting for her in the hall, and greeted Robin with a tight embrace.

“What are you doing here?” Robin asked. 

“Trying to figure out what the hell is going on,” Ilsa said, “I was able to call some lawyer friends who have experience in human trafficking situations, they’re on their way over. The girls are being questioned now, but none of them are talking. One of the clients at the Baartman tonight was the police commissioner, so that complicates it.”

“Shit.” Robin huffed out a breath. “Where are the girls? Are they safe?"

"They're in the hospital. Almost all of them have severe drug dependencies, not to mention malnutrition. They're not used to the change in environment, and it hasn't been easy. But they're all alive."

"What’s going to happen to them?” 

“Too soon to say right now. Their testimonies will be crucial in court, if they agree to speak. But...”

“But what?”

“I’m going to tell it to you as a lawyer, okay? Not as a friend.”

“Okay.”

“Most of the women are probably going to be arrested themselves."

"No!"

"Their clients were very powerful men. Politicians, philanthropists, lawyers. Those men will build a powerful defense team. And that defense team is going to argue that most of the women aren’t here legally.”

“Well yes, because they were kidnapped.”

“Coerced, at best. The majority of them came here willingly. Not to mention that they then broke the law by using being prostitutes.”

“They were forced! They were raped!”

“The signs point to that, yes. But their clients were the elite of the elite. The most powerful people in the world. It’s going to be a fight.”

Robin ran her hands over her face.

“I’m tired of fighting.” Her lip trembled. “Why is everything a fight?” 

Ilsa took Robin’s hand.

“You leave this fight to us,” she said, starting down the hall, “You’ve done enough fighting for the day.” Robin followed Ilsa meekly, not quite caring where she was being led. “You let me take you home, get some sleep. We’ll see Cormoran in the morning.”

“What if he wakes up? He can’t wake up alone.”

“Nick is with him. He gets special employee perks, and a disregard for visiting hours is one of them.” 

Robin stopped. 

“Ilsa?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you… can you cut my hair?”

 

She used Nick and Ilsa's shower, scrubbing hard at her skin until it turned red. The steam soothed her sore throat and aching muscles. She cried, her tears washing away the last burning remnants of pepper spray from her tear-ducts. Afterwards she put on Ilsa's fluffiest dressing gown and sat in the bathroom as Ilsa combed out her hair. When wet, Robin's hair came all the way down to her waist. 

"Have I ever told you my mum owns a hair salon?" Ilsa asked.

"Cormoran mentioned it, yes."

"She wanted me to follow in her footsteps, but I could never stand the small-talk needed to be a cosmetologist. Still, I would cut peoples' hair in University. Made some decent money that way." She weighed Robin's hair in her hand. " Would you want to donate it? If you do, we would braid it and then chop off the braid."

Robin considered, then nodded.

"Sure. Let's donate it. Maybe somebody else would want it."

"Hell, I'd wear it as a wig." Ilsa braided it up with deft, sure movements. "My God, you have beautiful hair."

"Matthew used to say that it was the best thing about me."

"Yes, well, Matthew is a first-class wanker. How short do you want it?"

"Short."

"Like short? Or  _short?_ "

Robin met Ilsa's eye in the mirror.

"Do you have a razor?"

 


	47. Visiting Hours

Robin returned to the hospital at two the next day. Cormoran was asleep. Nick was sitting by his side, looking grey and thin.

“Nice haircut,” Nick said. 

“Thanks.” It was chin-length now, shorter than Robin had ever had it. She wasn’t used to it, and she kept on touching the back of her neck, which was bare for the first time in her memory. “I’m not used to it being this curly. Ilsa did a good job.”

“It’s one of her secret super powers. Her mum owns a hair salon.”

“She told me.”

Nick glanced at the paper cup in Robin’s hand. 

“Are you actually drinking the shit they pass off as coffee?” he asked, “That stuff is like battery acid.” 

“Yes. I poured in two packets of Swiss Miss in an attempt to mask the flavour.”

“Does it work?”

“Chocolate flavoured battery acid. It’s absolutely disgusting. How’s it going here?”

“I know his doctor,” Nick said, “Doctor Culanne. She’s one of the best. She says that he’s doing exceptionally well." He rubbed his face with his hand. "He woke up earlier. He was asking for you.” 

“Do they know what he was given?”

“They said say that he ingested a very lethal concentration of pure uncut heroin mixed with Xanax. He was going through some withdrawal symptoms this morning, so they gave him something to put him to sleep.” Nick yawned loudly at the mention of sleep.

“Go home,” Robin said, “Get some rest. I’ll stay with him until visiting hours are over.”

Nick was too tired to argue. He stood with a groan and several cracking joints.

“Thanks. Keep me updated.”

Robin promised that she would, and took Nick’s spot in the armchair. 

Cormoran’s skin was a sickly yellow color, and he needed a shave. He had a tube down his nose, another in his arm, and a third with an unknown origin coming out from under his blanket. His heart rate beeped away steadily on the monitor. His IV dripped. Robin watched his chest rise and fall, reassuring herself that he was actually breathing. 

“Hi Cormoran,” she murmured. His eyelashes fluttered a bit in his sleep. “The girls from the Baartman are all alive, and in the hospital. I haven’t seen them yet. Ilsa is trying to figure out the legal side of things. I don’t envy her.” Robin reached out and took his hand. “You need to get better.” His hand was warm, which reassured to Robin, and she squeezed it tighter. “You need to get better, because Ilsa needs your statement.” She blinked tears away. “And because Jack needs an uncle. And because…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Because I… I love you. I have for years.”

Cormoran smiled, his eyes still shut. 

“Years?” he said.

“Dammit Cormoran, you’re supposed to be asleep!”

“Sorry,” he said. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “But  _ years _ ?”

“Well. Yes.” Heat was radiating off her face.

“You kept that quiet.”

Robin snorted.

“I really didn’t.”

Cormoran opened his eyes and blinked up at her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi.”

“I love your hair,” he said.

Robin ran her hands over it shyly. She hadn’t cut it to look pretty, she had cut it because she’d felt claustrophobic in her own body. The feel of it around her neck and throat had sent shivers down her spine, and she had wanted it gone. It had been heavy and dense, and she felt lighter without it. Still, she wasn’t sure how she liked the look of it. 

“Really?” she asked

“Yeah.”

“He grabbed me by my braid,” Robin said, her tone stiff, “Back at the club. That’s how he got me. I wanted it gone.”

“What did they give me back there?” Cormoran asked, “Poison?”

“Heroin and Xanax.”

“Just like with Sian.”

“Exactly. I’ve been thinking about it. As a mortician, Hunter could alter parts of Sian’s autopsy, but he couldn’t fake tox results. Those belong to a different department.”

“Hunter… That’s not his real name.”

“I know. His real name is Alexander Cesars.”

“How long did you know?”

“Hard to say. I had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. At first I wrote it off as my own past trauma, especially after a background check showed Hunter Chasman to be properly certified with no criminal record. But I’ve had bad experiences with men, so the day after the car crash I decided to dig a little deeper. Turns out that Hunter Chasman, Mortician’s Assistant, is a real person. Or at least he used to be. That’s why when I did the initial background check he looked legit. But then I called his former employers, and realized that the real Hunter Chasman died of cancer three years ago. His belongings, including his certification, were sold at an estate sale. I confirmed that with his sister a few days ago.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I  _ suspected _ , but I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if I was just being irrational and paranoid. I have been hurt before, you know. Trust issues would be expected.” She looked down at her lap. “I didn’t want you to think that I was crazy.”

“Oh Robin…” Cormoran brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Robin, you’re brilliant. I would never think you’re crazy.”

Robin was about to answer when the door slammed open and Ned and Lucy both came bursting in with all the force of a hurricane. 

“Oh God, they met each other,” Robin murmured, “Prepare to be mothered to death.”

“Together they’re going to be unstoppable,” Cormoran said.

“Stick!” Lucy shouted, “What on earth happened?”

“I’m sorry,” Cormoran said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“They said you had a heroin overdose!”

“I was drugged. It’s… complicated.”

“I was worried sick. I nearly had a heart attack. After what happened with Mum, and now you…”

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Cormoran growled.

“I see you two have met,” Robin said hurriedly, gesturing between Ned and Lucy.

“Oh, yes,” Lucy said, “I went to Robin’s flat once I heard what happened, trying to find her, you know. And I met lovely Ned there.”

“Friendship at first sight,” Ned beamed.

“God help us all,” Cormoran muttered under his breath. 

Ned had a large tote bag over one arm, which he laid on Cormoran’s bed.

“Lucy and I modified my usual hospital survival kit,” Ned said. He started pulling out items: a toothbrush, DVDs, a fleece blanket, a water bottle, a box of tea, packets of apple sauce, a pair of fuzzy slippers.

“Jesus, Ned, what is all this stuff?” Cormoran asked.

“When you’ve spent as much time in hospitals as I have, you come prepared. You want some lotion? What about dry shampoo?”

“God, I take it all back,” Cormoran said, “You two are fucking miracles.”

“That’s what my doctors say about me too,” Ned said dryly, “Ned Gatwa, a medical miracle. I was meant to be dead twenty years ago, and I’ve stayed alive thanks to these hospital survival kits. And this baby.” He pulled out a mason jar of suspicious brown liquid. “Neddie Gatwa’s famous vegetable broth. Almost anybody can drink it, even if you’re on a clear liquid diet.” He handed it to Cormoran, who took it warily. “I’m passing the miracle onto you.”

“It really is quite good,” Robin said, “He boils it with apples and carrots and such.”

“I’ll need to get that recipe,” Lucy said. She handed Cormoran his favorite sweater, and the book he was half-way done with. “I grabbed these from your place.”

“You’re brilliant. All of you are just brilliant.”

Lucy shot Robin a glance.

“Is he still high?”

“No I’m not bloody high,” Cormoran growled.

“He’s just a bit high,” Robin whispered. She stood. “Now that you’re here, Lucy, I might dip out to the ladies room.”

“I’ll join you,” Ned said, “I’m dying for a cup of coffee.”

Robin squeezed Cormoran’s hand and left him alone with his sister. 


	48. The Hospital

Cormoran expected a flood of emotion from Lucy, an avalanche of dithering and melodrama. Instead she sat in Robin’s chair and looked at her hands in silence. She couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Finally she spoke.

“So,” She said. 

Cormoran cleared his throat. 

“So.”

“Heroin.”

“It was-“

“I know,” she said hurriedly, “I know. I know. You were poisoned. It wasn’t your fault.” She chewed on her lip, thinking hard. “But... now you understand. You know how… you know how she felt. Mum. When she...”

Cormoran sighed, understanding. 

“I ingested it. Mum took it intravenously. Mum probably wasn’t even conscious when-“

“Did it hurt?” Lucy asked. 

Cormoran considered. The euphoria, floating easiness, joy and contentment in his heart. His old friend beside him. Then the choking, the shortness of breath, the red panic as he fought against his own body, urging his lungs to move, urging his heart to beat. 

“It was like falling asleep,” he said. Lucy shot him a skeptical look. 

“I’m not a child anymore,” she said, “You can tell me.”

But her knee was bouncing and Cormoran knew that there was a part of her that was still a frightened, hopeful little girl. 

“I was very scared,” he said, “And it wasn’t very pleasant. But I wasn’t in any pain.”

Lucy nodded. She let the information sink in. 

“I love you,” she said. 

Cormoran couldn’t remember when she’d last told him that. They weren’t especially demonstrative in that way, and the words seemed stiff and jagged in Lucy’s mouth. Cormoran smiled. 

“I love you too, Lucy.” 

***

Three days. Three days in the hospital, but it felt like three weeks. The drip of the IV, the chug of the NG pump, and the beep of the heart monitor all ran together in a dirge-like rhythm. He drank Ned’s vegetable broth. Nick visited on lunch breaks and and brought food and books and updates on the case. Every day a new arrest was made.

_ “They found traces of heroin and Xanax in Sian’s takeaway container. Thank God her landlady wasn’t a cleaner. She just threw everything in the storage space, even the trash.”  _

_ “We spoke to Mathilda, and Alice was allowed to spend the night last night. It was wonderful. She’s perfect.” _

_ “Al made a deal, giving all the names of clients he knew in exchange for a reduced sentence.” _

_ “The chief of police was arrested today. And several other officers. Even a guy on the Internal Affairs unit.” _

_ “They got your dad. And Al’s brother Ed. Al has agreed to a paternity test for Alice.” _

He heard from Al only once, through a voicemail on his phone. 

_ “Cormoran, man, you’re my brother, you have to believe me, I had no idea. The bartender spiked the drink, not me. I would never…” _ At that Al broke down in sobs. Cormoran didn’t respond to the phone call. He doubted that Al had known what was going on. Al was a terrible liar, and far too naive for his own good. Still, Cormoran couldn’t think about his brother without a sharp burn of disgust in the back of his throat. He hoped that Al might learn a thing or two in prison. 

A drug counselor came in and spoke to Cormoran about quitting his heroin addiction. Cormoran tried to tell her that he wasn’t an addict, then realized that denial just made him sound like more of an addict, so he listened politely and thanked the counselor for her good work. 

Cormoran was bored. He slept most of the time. Every hour a nurse came in and checked his vitals, and made him blow into a little gadget that measured his lung strength. 

Robin came in every day at visiting hours. Unlike other visitors, Robin wasn’t pitying, or filled with false cheer. She was just Robin. She always kissed his forehead upon coming and leaving, and never let go of his hand. Otherwise, they didn’t acknowledge any change in their relationship. But it was there. It was there, and it kept him going. 

Cormoran was discharged on Wednesday, after Robin assured the doctors that she would monitor him like the KGB. 

“I recommend spending as much time as possible in bed,” the doctor said, “And for the first few nights you may want to sleep sitting up, to help with respiratory function. Take things easy physically. Any severe vomiting, I want you to come straight back here. Otherwise, there are no major dietary restrictions. Remember to take your pills in the morning and the evening. If I don’t hear from you sooner, I’ll see you in a week to assess your progress.”

***

Cormoran had most of his strength back, but by the time he reached his flat he was panting and leaning heavily on Robin for support.

“I’m sorry,” he said, gasping, “I’ll be fine, I just…”

“Cormoran, on Saturday your lungs forgot how to breathe, alright? It’s perfectly reasonable to be a bit out of breath after three flights of stairs.” She unlocked the door to his flat and followed him in. “And don’t tell me that you’re fine and that I should go home. I told the doctors that I’d watch you, and I’m a good girl-scout. I’m true to my word.”

“Don’t feel like you have to-” Cormoran started.

“I seem to remember a certain recording I made for you,” Robin said, grinning, “Would you like me to play it for you?”

“Robin…”

“You promised to let me mother you to the fullest extent.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes, but smiled. “If you insist on staying, let’s at least order some take-away and make an evening of it.”

They ate their cheap Chinese food on the bed, not touching, a safe distance apart, neither one entirely sure where the new lines of their relationship were drawn. They ate in silence for several moments, before Cormoran finally spoke up.

“If the police find the whiskey glass I drank from they’ll find traces of heroin, won’t they?” he asked. 

Robin considered this.

“You were unconscious for ages,” she said, “I’m sure the evidence was destroyed.”

“Maybe. But remember, they got complacent. They thought the police were in their pocket.”

“Mm. Ilsa says that she’s compiled a pretty stellar team of prosecutors.”

“Good.”

They lapsed back into silence.

“That was a very masculine thing to do, you know,” she mused.

“What was?”

“Drinking that whiskey.”

Cormoran furrowed his brow and Robin laughed at his confusion. 

“As girls we are always told to watch our drinks at all times,” she explained, “always watch it be poured. Always keep your eyes on it. Even if it’s given by a friend. There’s even special nail polish that turns pink when exposed to certain drugs. And there you were, in a known hostile location, guzzling down whiskey from a mysterious source like it was nothing.” 

Cormoran smiled. 

“Is this payback for all my lectures about vigilance?” he asked. 

“Just a taste.”

Cormoran finished eating and put his bowl on his bedside table.

“Hey Robin?” he said.

“Yeah?”

He held out his arms. 

“You’re too far away.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.” She toed off her shoes. It was a bit awkward, some jostling, Robin making sure that Cormoran was comfortable in his still-fragile condition, but eventually they got situated with Cormoran’s chin on Robin’s head, his arms around her. 

They sat like that for a bit, Robin listening Cormoran’s pulse, the comforting reassurance that he was alive.

“Cormoran?” she murmured.

“Mm.”

“I shot somebody.” All lightness was gone from her voice,

Cormoran sighed.

“I know.”

“I tried to kill him.”

“I know. But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t even think about it. I just pointed the gun and shot.”

“You saved a lot of lives.”

“It was so...  _ easy _ .”

Cormoran bit on the inside of his cheek, thinking.

“I killed somebody once,” he said, “Point blank. Like that. That’s why I got my medal.”

Robin twisted her neck to look at him.

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

“I don’t talk about it. She had been a friend of mine. At one point. Before… well, it doesn’t matter. Not really.” He shut his eyes tight against the memories. “Her name was Fatima. She was coerced into a suicide bombing. Her family had been kidnapped, and she was told that if she…” 

He trailed off. She waited for him to explain further, but didn’t press.

“Do you still think about it?” she asked. Cormoran knew what she was really asking.

“Not every day,” he said, “Not anymore.”

“How long did it take?”

“A few years.”

Robin sucked in a shaky breath.  _ Years. _

“Just tell me,” Cormoran said, “Every time you think of it, tell me. And I’ll remind you of all the girls you saved.”

“And will you tell me too? When you think about her?”

“I’ll try.”


	49. The Baartman Girls

Robin woke up to the sound of the piledriver roaring outside the window and a pain in her neck that radiated down her entire body. She and Cormoran had fallen asleep sitting up on top of the covers, fully clothed and with the TV going. Her head was still resting on his chest, and he groaned as she sat up. 

“Did we fall asleep here?” Cormoran asked, “What time is it?”

“Just past seven.”

“I can’t feel my leg.”

“That’s because it’s been blown off,” Robin said. She stood, her back cracking dramatically. “Do you have any pain killers?”

“There’s Paracetamol in the medicine cabinet. But if you want something stronger I’ve got some nice Methadone tablets to help with my withdrawal.” 

“I know you’re joking, but I wish you weren’t.” Robin kissed him on his stubbly chin and headed to the bathroom.

 

She was just stepping out of Cormoran’s shower when Vanessa called her. 

“What news?” Robin asked as soon as she picked up.

“The girls have been placed into protective custody,” Vanessa said, “And let me tell you, it has not been an easy process.”

“I assume they’re wanting to all stay together?”

“Exactly. Trying to separate them practically caused a riot. But good luck trying to hide fifteen teenage girls together.”

“Especially when those teenage girls are going through drug withdrawal.”

“And have a deep terror of hotel rooms. We brought them to a hotel and they flipped the fuck out. But we worked something out in the end.”

“I assume you can’t tell me what that something was.”

“No. The walls have ears here. But a few of them want to meet you.”

“ _ Me _ ?”

“Yes. Three of them. They were quite insistent, actually. They said that they wouldn’t answer any questions until they spoke with you. I would be in the room during the conversation, of course.”

“But… Why would they want to see me? I’m the reason they’re being deported.”

“No, you’re fighting against their deportation. They know that. You set them free from a terrible situation.” Vanessa paused, then added, “And you know where Zuhra Azmaray’s baby went.”

“Still strange to think of her as anything but Sian Carw.”

“When can you be at the hospital?”

“Soon.”

 

Robin recognized the two officers at the front door as the two men from the firearms unit who had rescued Robin at the club. She gave them both a little wave of thanks and they nodded. They both looked incredibly exhausted and Robin wondered how long they had been working.

Besides Vanessa, There were four women in the hospital’s meeting room. They were thin and model-grgeous, in hospital scrubs, their faces bare of makeup. Their beauty was marred only by their jumpiness, constantly looking over their shoulders and scratching at their arms.

“Thank you for coming,” Vanessa said, “I’d like to introduce you to some women here. This is Nenet…” Nenet was small and bird-like, with tightly curled hair pulled back in a bun. “...Ursula…” Ursula was tall, Amazonian, with dark hair down her back. She was the oldest of the four. “...Jimin…” Jimin had short dark hair and broad shoulders and she glared at Robin through narrowed eyes. “...And Hikari.” Hikari was holding Ursula’s hand and stared up at the ceiling, a vacant smile on her face.

“I’m Robin,” Robin said, “I feel like I already know you all. Sian told me all about you.”

“Who is Sian?” the girl named Jimin demanded, “Who knows about us?”

“Once Zuhra escaped she went by the name of Sian,” Vanessa explained.

“You knew Zuhra?” Nenet asked.

“We met, yes.”

“Zuhra was…” She blinked at the ceiling, her eyes red and wet. “Zuhra was everything to me.” 

“You helped her get away,” Robin said, “You hid her in the mattress.”

“Yes.” 

“She is dead?” Ursula asked, “Regina told us that she had died, but I did not believe her.”

“Yes. Hunt- Alexander killed her. But her child is still alive.”

Jimin gave a little gasp. Her chin was trembling and she looked furious at her own body for betraying her emotion.

“Where is baby?” she demanded.

“She’s in a good home,” Robin said, “Have you met Ilsa yet?”

“Ilsa Herbert?” Nenet said, “Yes, we have met her.”

“Ilsa and her husband are starting the fostering process. Hopefully the baby is going to be living with them.”

“When will we see baby?” Jimin asked.

Robin glanced at Vanessa, who shrugged.

“That’s for the social worker to decide,” Vanessa said.

“I’ll tell Ilsa that you would like to meet the baby,” Robin said.

The woman named Hikari was distracted by the light reflecting off Robin’s watch and reached out to grab it. Ursula snapped at the girl in rapid-fire Japanese. Hikari looked down, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” Ursula said, “Hikari is a little slow.”

“I’ve heard about her,” Robin said, “She’s perfect.” 

“She does not really understand what’s happening,” Ursula said, “She does not often get this bad. Usually she is at least able to speak. “But the shock of the change has made her…” She searched for the word, then shrugged. “Go back to sick.”

“I’m sorry,” Robin said, “I’m sorry that I caused this trouble. I’m sorry that I exposed you, and that now you have to be in hiding. And I’m sorry that you might be deported, or arrested. I never meant for any of this to happen.” She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “I will do whatever I can to help you.”

The women just stared at her, unmoved. Finally Nenet spoke up.

“Did Zuhra… Was she happy?”

“I think so. Yes.”

Nenet nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “We have no more questions.”

The women continued to stare at Robin as Vanessa led her out of the room.

 


	50. Survivor Guilt

After the meeting with the girls, Robin went to the car and sobbed, and screamed, and beat at the steering wheel with her fists. Then she went home and curled up in the fetal position in bed and cried softly to herself until she was impossibly tired and impossibly thirsty. She briefly wondered if the world would be a better place without her, then decided that no, the world was pretty much shit either way, and she might as well stick around.

She spent most of the next day in bed. After texting Cormoran to make sure he was doing alright, she locked herself in her room, leaving her room only to use the bathroom and grab snacks. She watched two seasons of Project Runway, the least violent show she could think of.

The next day she woke up feeling slightly less miserable. She padded to the shower, still feeling a bit fragile, but better overall. She was almost happy, then angry at herself for feeling almost happy. How dare she feel happy when there was so much suffering in the world? 

She got out of the shower and put on her fleece-lined leggings and her warmest hoodie. She made herself a cup of tea and curled up on the sofa, thinking. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ned, who sat down next to her. 

“Nice of you to finally emerge from hiding,” he said. He opened a bag of Milanos. “Biscuit?”

“Bless you.” Robin took two.

“You want to talk about it?”

Robin shrugged.

“Just feeling guilty I guess.”

“Tell me more.”

“What are you, my therapist?” 

Ned shot Robin a look and she rolled her eyes. 

“Fine,” she said, “I wanted to do something good, and it turned out like shit.”

“Go on.”

“I thought I was helping these girls, but they didn’t actually want my help.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“Not in those words. But they might be getting deported.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“I know how our immigration system works.”

Ned munched thoughtfully on a Milano.

“Do you trust Ilsa?” he asked. Robin didn’t hesitate.

“Yes, of course.”

“So do I. I’ve seen Ilsa work worse cases than this.” He leaned back and put his feet in Robin’s lap. “Do you know how Ilsa and I met?”

“In University.”

“Yes. She was in Law School. She was the top of her class, and had the opportunity to assist a professor on a case. The case was this: a student performed at a drag show. Afterwards he went to a bar, still in costume. Another man saw him at the bar and they started to chat, things got interesting, the young man in drag was invited outside for a bit of fun.”

“Let me guess. They thought the man in drag was a woman.”

“Indeed.” Ned sighed. “I was... beaten. Quite thoroughly. Then I was taken to court for sexual assault.”

“Jesus.”

“The judge on the case was notorious for his homophobia. Terror of AIDS was still strong at that time, and as such any gay man was literally seen as a terrorist. But Ilsa… God, she was incredible. Not only did I get off the hook, the other man was sent to prison.” He grabbed Robin’s hand. “I know that Ilsa isn’t an immigration lawyer, but she’s got a lot of friends, as good as her or better, who will do everything in their power to help these girls.”

Robin nodded. When she spoke again she chose her words carefully.

“Sometimes lately... I’ve been feeling... happy,” she said, “Cormoran and I… Well, it’s good. But then I remember that I’m not allowed to feel happy, I don’t deserve to feel happy.”

“Explain that.”

“All this pain and hurt. Trafficked girls. Rape. Murder. And I’m over here, happy that the man I fancy fancies me back.”

Ned considered this, then asked,

“Can you tell me a little bit about Sian?”

“What about her?”

“What did she want in life?”

“She wanted to find her baby and escape to Wales.”

Ned made a face.

“God, why. I barely escaped  _ from  _ Wales.”

“She liked the solitude of it.”

“Well it does have that. Nothing but sheep and wind in the dear old homeland.” He shook it off. “What I mean is, Sian, or Zuhra, or whatever you want to call her, she didn’t give a shit about saving the world. All she wanted was to find a little tiny spark of love and hope in the middle of this howling dark shitshow we call life. And in a way that’s the most radical way to save the world, isn’t it?” He turned and looked at Robin. “I met Owen when I was seventeen, at the height of the AIDS crisis. Everybody around us was dead or dying. We joined a support group, that started out with fifty people. Now I’m the only one left. People don’t understand it now, with PrEP and antiretrovirals, but we did think that it was the apocalypse. How stupid was that, to start a new relationship when everything around us was collapsing!” He took Robin’s hand. “We have to follow joy, wherever we can. Otherwise, what’s the point of saving anybody?”

Robin was crying again, but she was laughing too.

“Okay,” she said. She stood up. “I have to go now.”

“What? Why?”

“I have to go find Cormoran.”

“Atta girl.” Ned grinned and rummaged in his pockets. “You need a condom?”

“Bye, Ned!”

“I’ll leave it here anyways.” He tucked it into her hoodie pocket with a wink.

  
  


It took awhile for Cormoran to answer the door, and when he did he was in his dressing gown, leaning on a crutch, his hair still wet from the shower. He looked confused, but happy to see her, his head cocked to one side like a puppy.

“Hey,” he said, “Wait right here, while I go... put on some clothes.”

“I’d…” Robin started, then grinned down at her feet, blushing furiously. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

Cormoran’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

“Yeah?”

Robin rubbed the back of her neck and met his eyes. 

“Yeah.”

“Well then. Come inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo no sexiness here yet. If y'all want some of that I can stick it in the next chapter. Let me know.


	51. SEXYTIMES OCCUR HERE

There would be time for fun, playful sex. There would be time for being thrown on the bed, for laughing through kisses, for risky places, tested boundaries, experimentation and accessories. 

For now, they moved slowly, solemnly, knowing that the world was about to change irrevocably and that there was no going back. They didn’t speak. Cormoran took her hand and led her to his bedroom, still leaning on his crutch. They both sat on his bet, a bit shyly, a bit cautious. Robin rested her forehead against his, and they sat like that for a moment, breathing it in. Then Robin reached out and placed her hand over his heart, at the opening of his dressing gown. His skin was warm, not smooth like Matthew’s, but soft. She wanted more of it.

Cormoran placed his finger under her chin and tilted her face so that she was looking at him. There was such tenderness, such wonder in his eyes, Robin felt like she was staring at the sun, but she couldn’t look away. She was seeing herself through his eyes, she could see forever, see into the future. Then he was kissing her and she didn’t care about anything but his mouth on hers.

It was slow at first, testing, learning, close-mouthed and sweet. Then his hand curled around the back of her skull, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his fingers splayed against her lower back, and then they were trying to be as close as they possibly could.

Lips, teeth, tongue. They were ravenous, thirsty. Robin didn’t know how long they lasted like that, kissing like nothing else mattered, like there was no other goal. It was enough to just be there, connected, breathing into one another.

Then it wasn’t enough, and she wanted more. She moved her hands under his dressing gown, pushing it off his shoulders. It pooled around his waist, barely covering him, and then she pushed him back onto the bed and it wasn’t covering him at all, and she crawled on top of his naked body and kissed him like she had never kissed anybody before.

Cormoran’s hands ran over her leggings, her thighs, her ass, and she murmured against his mouth, pressing into him. He tugged her closer so that she was grinding against him, then hissed in discomfort as he remembered that she was in leggings, and he was completely naked. Robin giggled a bit and sat back on his thighs.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Why am I the only naked one here?” Cormoran asked, grinning.

Then Robin pulled off her sweater and T-shirt and he wasn’t grinning anymore, just staring at her in amazement.  Robin took the condom out of her pocket, placing it neatly on the pillowcase beside him with a cheeky wink. She shivered a bit in the sudden coolness of the room, and he ran his warm hands up her sides.

“Is this…” he said, panting slightly, “Is this good? This pace? It’s not too fast?”

Robin smirked at him and undid the clasp of her bra. His breath caught.

“Is it too fast for you?” she asked. He swallowed and shook his head. Robin took his hands in hers and moved them to her bare breasts. “It’s not too fast for me,” she murmured.

He moved his thumbs over her nipples and she gasped, her knees tightening around his thighs. He did it again, harder this time, and her head jerked back. He slid his hands down to her waistband and tugged at her waistband impatiently. She stood and fumbled with her leggings, wondering why they were so damn tight, why they were taking so long to get off. Her underwear went with them, and then she was falling back on top of him, her naked body on his, skin on skin, heat where they touched, and they were touching everywhere, mouths frenzied, hands exploring. Cormoran rolled over on top of her, and she could feel him pressing into her stomach, already dripping, wet against her skin.

Then he stopped and sat up. Robin cocked her head, confused.

“I just want to... wait... a second,” Cormoran panted, “I just want to... look at you.”

And he did, his eyes wandering down her body, his pupils large and dark, his lips slightly parted. Robin laid back on the bed. She felt incredibly vulnerable, but also safe, safer than she ever had before in her life. He caught her eye and reached out a gentle, almost tentative hand, and ran it down between her breasts, down her stomach, and between her legs. She didn’t break the eye contact. He dipped a finger between her folds, and her breath fluttered. Cormoran’s eyes widened.

“Jesus Christ, Robin,” he murmured, “How wet are you?”

“I want you,” she gasped, “ _ Very _ badly.”

He smiled.

“Apparently so.” He slid his finger up her slit, and Robin whined, her legs falling open. Cormoran sat on the foot of the bed like a good student. He took her splayed legs and carefully placed them on either side of his. Then he studied her. He licked his thumb and traced her, examining every response in her body. He was a detective to his core, and Robin was a joy to observe. He loved the trembling in her thighs, the sheen of sweat on her hip. He observed the tension of her throat when he skimmed her clit, and the way her fingers clutched at the sheets. He loved every inch of her. 

“Robin,” he said. She looked at him in a daze. Then he sank his index finger knuckle-deep into her.

Her jaw dropped in surprise, and she gasped like she had just been submerged, her eyes wide. Cormoran stopped.

“Are you…” He furrowed his brow, concerned. “Is that a good face?” he asked.

“More,” Robin gasped, “I want… I want you… In...”

He slid in his index and middle fingers, and used his thumb to play around her clit. The noise she made came from deep within her, a low growling groan that made Cormoran feel incredibly accomplished. 

“Like this?” he teased.

“You bloody well know what I mean,” Robin said. With great self-control, she removed his hand and, hitching her breath at the feeling of its absence. Then she reached down and touched him. Cormoran shut his eyes and involuntarily moved against her hand. 

She sat up and grabbed the condom from the pillow and pushed him back onto the bed. He hissed in pleasure as she slid the condom onto him. Then she was crawling on top of him, resting her forehead on his, her hand holding him steady.

She positioned herself against him, and looked into his eyes. She asked a wordless question, and he answered. And then, slowly, slowly, she was sliding down onto him. He shut his eyes at the feeling of her, wet and tight around him, and suppressed a groan. 

Robin gasped, unable to catch her breath, eyes wide. Her hands clenched around his arms. Cormoran hesitated.

“Hey,” he murmured, looking down at her, “Hey, are you okay?” He put a hand on her face. She let her breath out slowly, smiling. 

“Yes,” she breathed, “yes.”

She moved against him, starting up a rhythm. He took the rhythm and worked with it, building on it. It was slow at first, and Robin could feel every movement, every ridge and ripple of his cock inside of her. She whimpered with every thrust.

“Robin,” Cormoran sighed, “Robin, I’m gonna…” He moved his hand between them, and felt down her center until he found her clit. 

That’s all it took, and she was gone. Her voice rose into nearly a howl, her eyes rolled back, and she was shaking, tight around him, her mind blank of everything but how good it felt. She could feel Cormoran following close behind, bucking wildly, his hands gripping her hips bruisingly tight.

“Robin! Fuck!” 

She rode the last of it out of him, then fell limp on his chest, breathless and spent. 

 

They stayed like that for a while, silent, sticky, dazed. Robin tucked herself into Cormoran’s chest, her head under his chin. He held her tight as their breathing grew even, and she could hear his heartbeat slow. Robin couldn’t remember ever feeling more safe and secure.

The sweat dried on her skin, making her shiver, and Cormoran pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. She rolled back and looked at him. Cormoran’s eyes were wet and red around the edges.

“Hey,” she said. 

“Hey,” he rumbled.

“I…” She trailed off, at a loss for words. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” she said.

“Mmm. How long?” Cormoran asked.

“My whole life maybe?”

Cormoran gave a wet sniff and chuckled.

“Yeah.” He brushed the hair out of her eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?”

Robin blinked very fast and bit her lip. 

“Now you’re going to make  _ me  _ cry,” she said. 

“Look at us, we’re like a couple of weepy teenagers.”

Robin laughed, and kissed him.

“I am hopelessly in love with you,” she said.

“Ah, that’s a funny coincidence,” Cormoran said, “Because it just so happens that I am also hopelessly in love with you.”

Robin grinned.

“How scary,” she said.

“Absolutely terrifying.”

She kissed him, smiling against his mouth, then kissed him again.

“My god,” she murmured, “Now I can kiss you whenever I feel like it.”

“I never want to stop,” Cormoran said. 

They indulged for several happy moments. Finally Robin pulled back. 

“You know what’s funny?” she asked.

“Hm.”

“I  _ trust _ you.”

“I should hope so.”

“No, I mean…” She squinted, thinking. “With Matthew, when we were in bed, at night, or in the morning… I never wanted to kiss him. In case it turned him on, and I couldn’t finish what I’d started.”

Cormoran reached out and kissed her, tenderly.

“Robin, for as long as I’ve known you, from the day we first met, you have turned me on,” he said.

Robin gave a little squeak of disbelief.

“The day we met?”

“I mean I wasn’t  _ interested _ , but I did  _ notice _ ,” he said, “What I’m saying is that I am a grown man. A grown man who has complete control over his penis.” 

Robin snorted. 

“I’ll say,” she said. Cormoran grinned, then grew serious. 

“I’ve always wrestled with the idea of love,” he said, “When you love somebody, your emotions are connected to theirs. It’s very vulnerable. Their happiness is your happiness. Their hurt is your hurt. I couldn’t deal with that for a long time. It didn’t seem worth it.” His thumb gently traced her jaw-line. “Now, with you… It’s more than worth it.” He tried to regain his train of thought. “What I mean is that… If you’re happy, I’m happy. And I cannot be entirely happy if you’re unhappy. If you’re not one hundred percent comfortable with a sexual situation, I will get no satisfaction from it.”

Robin grinned.

“Does that mean that I can be the little spoon?” she asked.

“Of course! What kind of question is that?”

With a little cheer, Robin turned her back to him and wrapped his arms around her.

“Does that mean that I can do this?” she asked, wiggling her bum against him. Cormoran groaned, making her giggle.

“As long as you don’t mind this,” he said, nudging his hips so that she could feel his erection pressing against her again. Her giggles dissolved into a breathy whimper.

“Already?” she gasped.

“Does that surprise you?”

“A bit.”

Cormoran growled and bit down on her shoulder, and they did not speak again for a long time.


	52. Rainy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters left after this! But I'm already working on a sequel :)

“Harder,” Robin said, “Really get in there.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. The doctor said it was good for me, remember?”

The bruises around Robin’s neck were beginning to fade into faint yellow green, but her back was still sore. Now she was leaning back against Cormoran’s chest on the couch, her shirt on the floor, his hands kneading into her shoulders. He dug in with a knuckle and she groaned, melting into him. Cormoran huffed a laugh against her neck. 

“Good?”

“So good.”

The rain beat down on the window outside, and Cormoran’s space heater was roaring full-blast. Due to Cormoran’s still-fragile immune system, he was told to stay out of the rain, so they had spent most of the day indoors, only going out during a temporary break in the deluge to get lunch. At first Cormoran had dreaded a day of forced house arrest, but it had turned out to be one of the best in recent memory. He couldn’t remember when he had last spent a day in complete relaxation. And spending it with Robin, in varying states of undress, made it practically surreal in its goodness.

The TV was on in the background, and the light from the screen turned Robin’s white shoulders a pale blue. Cormoran traced the line of her spine in wonder. She was really there.

“Oh! There they are!” Robin said, pointing to the TV, “Turn up the volume!”

A newscaster in a fluffy parka and umbrella was standing in front of a group of protesters, who were carrying signs and chanting.

“Thank you, Marvin,” the newscaster said, “Today a group is braving the winter storm in order to protest the potential deportation of the Baartman Fifteen, a group of fifteen dancers at the Grand Baartman Gentleman’s club. The fifteen girls, most of whom were underage, admit to having sexual intercourse with patrons of the club, but it is unclear if they did so willingly or if they were coerced. Most of the girls were in the country illegally, and are now facing risk of deportation.”

Robin made a “tcha!” sound of anger in the back of her throat. Cormoran ran his hands along her shoulder blades, warm and comforting. Robin leaned into his touch, but he could feel the anger humming under her skin. He kissed the nape of her neck, then the cleft of her shoulder, the faint yellow bruise on the side of her throat.

“Let’s see what the protesters have to say,” the newscaster said, “Hello, what’s your name?”

“Lucy Fantoni.”

Cormoran sat bolt upright, his hands freezing on Robin’s shoulders. There was his sister, in her baggy old rain poncho, her face flushed with purpose and excitement. Her youngest son was clutching her left hand, her right hand was holding a sign that said “SAVE THE BAARTMAN 15”.

“And Lucy, why are you out here in the rain today?”

“I’m here because those girls were victims of horrible atrocities. Many of them are children, not yet even sixteen. They came here to escape dangerous situations back home, and they were taken advantage of.”

“Thank you, Lucy,” the newscaster said. The screen flashed back to the anchor. 

“And thank you, Stacey,” the anchor said, “Today in parliament…”

Robin leaned back against Cormoran and moved his arms so that they crossed in front of her. 

“I’m glad the microphone you put in my tie kept recording,” Cormoran said, “I heard that all charges against Peter have been dropped.”

“At least one piece of damage has been reversed,” Robin said. 

“More than one.”

“Mm.” She ran her fingers over the hair on him arms. “Do you think we did the wrong thing?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Am I… Did I…” She bit her lip, thinking. “Was it right for me to pursue the investigation, and get these women in trouble?”

Cormoran released her.

“Robin.”

“Yeah.”

“Turn around.”

Robin turned to face him, wrapping her legs around his waist.

“Look me in the eyes,” Cormoran said. It took a bit of effort, but she finally lifted her eyes to his. His gaze was intense and serious, and the love in his eyes was blinding. He took her face in his hands.

“Robin Ellacott,” he said, “You are a good person. You are the best person I know.” Robin’s lip trembled. “You did the right thing. But even if you didn’t, even if you messed up, and made terrible mistakes, you would still be, at your core, a good, beautiful, loving person.”

A tear fell and Robin half-laughed a gasping sob. She looked up at Cormoran through wet lashes, and gave him a tremulous smile.

“Cormoran Strike, I am so in love with you it blows my fucking mind.”


	53. The funeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrapping stuff up. Tomorrow will be the epilogue.

The funeral was thrown together by Peter and several of the other members of the support group. It was held on the 23rd of December, at the local Catholic Church.  __ Everyone was there: Nick and Ilsa, Amani, Mathilda and Alice, Vanessa and her two trustworthy officers, Lucy and Greg and their boys (including Teddy’s girlfriend, who stood shyly in the corner), Eric and April Wardle (now hugely pregnant), Antonia Mevus, Dale and Peter, Barclay, Hutchins, scores of children and parents from St. Thomas More. Even Robin’s family came down from Masham to support. It was a larger group than anybody had imagined, and everybody was crammed together, pulling in extra chairs and standing in the back. It was the first time Robin had seen all of the Baartman Fifteen together. They were thin, jumpy, and quiet. The one exception was when they were with Alice. They all gathered around the child like a flock of birds, laughing, cooing, dabbing at their eyes. Alice was passed from one to another, never touching the ground.

The students at Saint Thomas More sang a hymn, and  Paul, the support group leader, gave the eulogy. 

_ “Zuhra touched the life of everyone she met, and hundreds of people she never met. In her own quiet way, Zuhra changed the world.” _

Nenet stood and shared the story of Anastacia, the Candomble goddess.

_ “And when you’re hopeless, pray to Saint Anastacia, then listen to her voice. She will tell you again about freedom, open skies and flowers and the ocean.” _

There was a collection passed around to help assist the women with their legal assistance. A tall blonde woman Cormoran didn’t recognize sang a Welsh lullaby in a deep sonorous voice. 

_ Dacw 'nghariad i lawr yn y berllan, Tw rym di ro rym di radl didl dal… _

There wasn’t a dry eye in the room. Wallets were emptied, and the collection plate overflowed. Cormoran bit his lip and squeezed Robin’s hand hard, blinking fast. Robin let her tears flow freely.

 

The reception was a more light-hearted affair. Volunteers from the church brought a spread of sandwiches, fruit, and cookies. Everyone sat around the banquet hall and talked and laughed. Robin and Cormoran weren’t demonstrative, but there was a difference that everyone could see. Their gravitational pull had shifted, their orbit closer and more comfortable. When they looked at each other it was clear to everyone that something had changed. 

“Who made the first move?” Ilsa asked as they ate. 

“Robin,” Cormoran said, at the exact same time as Robin said, “He did.”

They stared at each other. 

“You came to my flat,” Cormoran said, “And even before that, you told me in the hospital.”

“I only told you in the hospital because you told me in the ambulance.”

“You kissed me first, before I went to the club.”

“Well if we’re really getting technical, _you_ kissed _me_ first, two years ago.”

At that Ilsa lost it. 

“TWO _YEARS?”_ she shrieked, “You kissed _two_ _years_ ago? And I haven’t heard about it until _now_?”

“I didn’t mean to kiss her,” Cormoran said, “I mean it was intended to be friendly, but then she turned her head.”

“God, you two are impossible,” Ilsa said. 

“Somehow we made it,” Robin said, “Thankfully we had a good shove from friends.” She winked at Ilsa. “Honestly, Ilsa, you’re the best wing woman anyone could ask for.” She stood up. “I’m going to get another cookie. Anybody else want anything?”

“I’ll have another,” Ilsa said.

Robin walked to the buffet table. After openly admiring her retreating figure, Cormoran turned back to Ilsa, beaming. 

“She likes being the big spoon,” he whispered, overjoyed, “I’ve never been the little spoon before! It’s incredible!”

He had a lightness about him that Ilsa hadn’t seen in decades.

“How does that work logistically? You’ve got a good six inches on her.”

“Yeah I do,” he waggled an eyebrow. 

“Oh fuck off.”

Martin sat down across from Cormoran.

“Hopalong!” he said, “How are you?”

“I’m excellent, Martin. It was nice of you guys to all come down to support Robin.”

“We were planning a Christmas visit anyways.” He leaned over with an exaggerated whisper. “Hey, do you guys know who that blonde is over there?”

Nick and Ilsa turned to see Robin laughing with the blonde singer by the snack table. The blonde was tall, and wearing a long black gown that looked like it had been designed for royalty.

“I don’t,” Cormoran said, “I’ve never seen her before.”

Robin and the blonde came back to the table with a plate of cookies, which they passed around. Cormoran noticed something familiar about the woman, and his eyes widened.

“Martin!” Robin said, “I’m so glad you made it!” She gestured to the blonde. “This is Ana.”

“Ana Phylactic,” the blonde said, holding out a bejeweled hand, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“He’s too young for you, Ana,” Robin said.

“Age is just a number.”

Cormoran squeezed Robin’s hand, then stood and lifted his glass.

“To Zuhra!” he called. All around the room, glasses were lifted and voices were raised.

“To Zuhra!”


	54. Epilogue

On May 15th, 2016, Ilsa, Nick, and Alice stopped by the St Hilda’s memorial garden with a pot of tulips. Alice had carried the flowers with both hands, and laid them carefully at the little marble box labeled “Zuhra Azmarah (1990-2014)”. It was small, holding ashes rather than a body. Somebody had placed a decorative stone rabbit beside the marker, which pleased Ilsa. She was glad they weren’t the only ones visiting the grave. 

“We do this to remember your other mummy,” Ilsa said. She knew that someday they would have to explain that, but for now Alice was still too young to be confused by it. Alice was three, but her language skills were still slow. “She gave birth to you, and she loved you very much. Just like we love you very much.”

It was sunny out, and they spread a blanket out on a bench and ate a picnic lunch. Then Nick and Alice rambled about the garden, playing some version of hide and seek with rules that seemed to be constantly in flux. Ilsa sat down next to the marble headstone. The grass was soaked, and she knew that she would get a muddy stain on her jeans, but she didn’t much care. She took out a pen and paper. 

Ilsa knew many adoptive parents who still maintained letter-box contact with the biological families of their children. There was a part of Ilsa that felt jealous of these parents. She wished that she could talk to Zuhra, ask her questions, see the person who had created Alice. 

“ _ Dear Zuhra, _ ” she started, then chewed on the back of her pencil.

_ “It’s funny to be talking to you after you’re dead, when I never even met you when you were alive. But here I am.  _ _ The paperwork came in today. It's taken a year and a half since we started the process, but Alice is officially our daughter. We're going to St. Mawes to celebrate.” _

She fidgeted with the grass beneath her fingers. 

_ “We’re taking good care of your girl. We thought about calling her Anastacia, but she was already used to Alice, so we made it her middle name. Alice Anastacia Herbert. She’s saying some words now, and she knows sign-language like you wouldn’t believe.”  _

Ilsa looked over at where Nick and Alice were playing. 

_ “You were right about Al Rokeby being her biological father. The DNA test was used to implicate him during the trial. He struck a deal and got out of jail time. He doesn’t want to see Alice, which is fine with us. But he’s promised that she’ll always be taken care of monetarily.  _

_ “Alice is still in touch with your sisters, either in person or via Skype. Or most of them, at least. The twins committed suicide within months of their release. None of the others were overly surprised. Sad, but not surprised. Maybe you know that. Maybe they’re there with you.”  _

The conversation was getting too metaphysical for Ilsa’s literal mind, and she changed the subject. 

_ “Most of the girls chose that they’d rather stay at halfway houses until they turned eighteen, but Ariana is so young she was placed with a foster family. She’s fourteen now. They get along pretty well. The parents let her stay to herself. She likes animals more than people, and they’re cool with that.  _

_ “Ursula has gotten a job working at St. Christopher’s Group Home. She loves it there, and the kids love her. We’re looking for her son, but there’s no sign of him. The assumption is that he’s died. _

_ “Nenet is in training to become a nun. No surprise there, either. She’s very excited. Jimin is also joining a religious order, but not a Catholic one. After she was deported she went to Korea to find her family, but they saw her as unclean after what she’d been through, and refused to accept her back into the home. Last I heard she went to Tibet and joined a Buddhist monastery. _

_ “I’m sorry that I couldn’t help all of them. I wish that they could have stayed together, but there was only so much I could do. We decided to try them individually, rather than in a group. That was a risk. We knew that if we tried them as a group they would either all stay or all leave, and we thought that the odds were too high. So Hikari was also deported, and sent back to Japan.”  _

Her pen stilled as she remembered the Hikari's screams when the girl realized that she and Ursula were being separated. 

_ “Her parents had died, but her brother has been taking care of her. He became fairly successful while she was gone, and he’s able to provide for her. We Skyped her yesterday. She seems happy. Ursula is planning to go up there and visit, but we have to wait until Ursula’s green card comes through. _

_ “Sabrina was deported as well, sent back to Syria. She was killed almost immediately in a bombing. Mei-Ling also died, of an overdose. We’re leaving flowers at her grave, today, as well. _

_ “Josefina came out as José, and is working at an MMA studio. We are very proud of him. We all go once a week and take self-defense classes from him. _

_ “Lenora is a barista at Speak Street Language Cafe. We go there sometimes. They make a hell of a latte. _

_ “And Melody… Well, she was going to be deported, but she ran away the night after the verdict was reached. She sent Ursula a postcard from Paris, saying that she was living on the street and singing in the Metro for money, and that she was gloriously happy. _

_ “Clemence is working for Cormoran and Robin as their receptionist, and she’s going to night school. She and Rosalie are dating. Or whatever the equivalent would be. Dating seems like a strange word for it, when you’ve already been imprisoned in a basement together for several years. _

_ “The Grand Baartman has been shut down, as well as Baartman Plumbing and Maintenance. Regina and Alexander Cesars are now in prison, no longer hurting anybody. Cormoran got their confession recorded, so it was simpler. Regina’s brother William is proving to be slightly more complicated. His trial is still ongoing. _

_ “I don’t know how to thank you for all that you have done for us. All of us. Alice is the joy of our lives. I will do everything I can to make her healthy and happy and safe. You are the strongest person I know, and you inspire me daily. The sacrifices you made for our daughter take my breath away. What can I do but try my hardest live up to your example? _

_ “Thank you, thank you, every day,  _

_ Ilsa.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END! I am so appreciative for all of you guys and your incredible feedback. You get me through hard times, and keep me writing. There is a sequel to this coming soon, set in St. Mawes.


End file.
